Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (13 page)

"There would be a strange contradiction in a
man who kills the father but saves the life of the
daughter. Don't you agree?"

"I admit that I have recently begun to have
doubts about Noble's guilt," Rachel admitted
grudgingly. "Do you think he did it?"

Winna Mae straightened and fluffed Rachel's
pillows. "No. I never thought he killed your father,
and I know he didn't shoot you either."

"No. He couldn't have shot me. But I am still
not wholly convinced that he didn't kill my father."

"His gun beside your father's body was damning, I'll admit, but I'd stake my life on the fact that
other hands put the gun there to make it appear
as if Noble Vincente did the deed."

"Is that the only reason you believe in his innocence? If so, your reasoning isn't sound."

"I use my eyes and ears and not my voice,"
Winna Mae stated calmly. "That way I see and
hear things."

"Such as?"

"All I'll say at the moment is that there are those
who envied the Vincente family. Noble is the kind
of man many want to be but never can be. There
are those who were too eager to put a noose
around his neck. I am glad for people like Sheriff
Crenshaw, who is a wise and sensible man."

Rachel lay back against the pillow while doubts
played in her mind. "I wish I were as certain as
you are."

"Do you think Noble is a half-wit?" Winna Mae
asked, her eyes boring into Rachel's.

"Hardly that."

"Then why would he commit a murder and
leave his gun to be found?"

Delia had given Rachel the same argument and Rachel had dismissed it. But coming from sensible, reliable Winna Mae, it sounded believable.
"Perhaps Noble had not planned to kill my father,
and when it happened, he panicked and ran
away."

"Noble is a coward, then?"

Rachel pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. "No. Of course not. But why didn't
you say any of this to me before now?"

"You never asked me. It's not my habit to offer
my opinion unless invited to do so."

"If he's innocent, why did he run away? Where
has he been all these years? He fathered a child
by Delia and then left her to face the shame alone.
He had no way of knowing that Whit would save
Delia from disgrace by marrying her."

Winna Mae picked up the water pitcher and
moved to the door. "Why don't you ask Noble
what happened?" She paused in the doorway.
"And while you're at it, why not ask your sister
some questions?"

Noble walked through the stable, looking into the
stalls, unconsciously counting the six horses that
made up his entire herd. He had no aversion to
hard work. Already this morning he'd cleaned the
stalls and tossed fresh hay to the horses. Without
money and men, how would he keep up with all
the repairs? Without rain, how long could he hope
to keep Casa del Sol?

His jaw settled into a formidable line. He would never turn away from the heritage his father had
entrusted to him. A Vincente did not surrender
when life got hard. A Vincente fought to win.

He blotted sweat from his face with his sleeve.
The weather had grown even hotter, and it was
stifling inside the brick structure. He rolled up his
sleeves and walked out of the stable to stand beneath the spreading branches of a tall oak tree.
One thing that could be said about West Texas: if
you stood beneath a tree, and the wind was
blowing-which it always was you could cool
down. His gaze went to the cloudless sky. If only
it would rain to break the heat and end the
drought, he thought wearily.

Noble narrowed his eyes against the glare of the
sun, gazing at a dust cloud that indicated several
riders were approaching. His hand automatically
went to his holster, and he realized he'd left his
gun at the hacienda. With grim determination he
waited for the horsemen. When they were near
enough for him to make out their number, he
counted fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three men.

Alejandro had gone into town that morning,
and his sons had ridden to the river to check its
depth. Noble would have to face the trespassers
alone and unarmed. He stood his ground and
waited for them to approach.

He was puzzled when he heard shouting in
Spanish and saw the riders waving. When they
were near enough for him to make out their faces,
he smiled.

Alejandro rode at the head of the vaqueros who
had made their home at Casa del Sol; evidently
they were returning, as the gran vaquero had predicted they would. Noble felt a lump in his throat
and couldn't speak.

"Patron!" Alejandro yelled. "Nothing could keep
them away when they heard that you had returned. They have come ready to work. Their families will come later."

The vaqueros bounded off their horses, grinning at their Patron. Each man stepped forward
and vigorously shook his hand, while Noble inquired about their wives and children.

At last they stood silent, waiting for the Patron
to instruct them, each face with an expectant expression.

Noble spoke to them in Spanish. "Muchas gracias, amigos. But I must tell you that I have no
money to pay you. I will think no less of any man
who rides away, for I know most of you have families to feed."

Noble waited for a response but none came, so
he continued. "If you agree to stay, we are in for
a difficult time. To my way of thinking, you are
the greatest vaqueros in Texas, and any rancher
who hires you will be most fortunate. Please consider this before you make a commitment to me
out of loyalty. While loyalty is a fine thing, it will
not put food in your children's bellies."

Silently they watched him as if they were waiting for him to say the right words to them.

He nodded in understanding. "Very well, Casa
del Sol is your home. Bring your families here and
I promise none shall go hungry."

Many wide-brimmed sombreros were tossed
into the air, and the men shouted in unison, "Viva
patron! Viva Casa del Sol!"

Alejandro smiled. "You have only to tell them
what to do and it will be done."

"Welcome home," he said, with pride swelling
in his chest. "We shall begin by rebuilding corrals,
patching the roof of the barn and setting the house
in good order. Carlos, Miguel, the two of you ride
to the eastern butte. Find what strays you can and
drive them to the west pasture where the grazing
is better along the Brazos."

"Will we drive them to Kansas City, Patron?"
leathery-faced Carlos inquired hopefully. "I have
heard it is a good market."

"Not this year, amigo. The few head we have will
go on your tables to feed your children." Noble's
gaze traveled over each familiar face. "Should the
day come when we prosper again, I can promise
each man here a sizable bonus. But there is no
guarantee that this will happen."

"It will happen," Alejandro said with confidence.

Noble looked doubtful. "I feel I should give you
another chance to consider. Who is to go and who
stays?"

Alejandro spoke for them. "They will not go, Patron."

Noble's throat tightened with emotion and it
took him a moment to speak. "Gracias, amigos. I
will never forget this day." He turned to the gran
vaquero. "Alejandro, see that each man has a place
to sleep. Make arrangements for them to bring
their families home as soon as possible. Casa del
Sol will soon know the sound of children's laughter again."

Noble turned and walked toward the house. He
no longer stood alone. For the first time since returning to Texas, hope began to grow within his
heart.

Rachel had too much time to think while she was
convalescing. She relived the scene at the river
many times in her head, and she became more
convinced than ever that the shot had been meant
for Noble. She had no enemies that she was aware
of, and Noble had many.

She resented the nameless, faceless person
who'd shot her, not because of her wound but because she had prior claim on Noble. She must be
the one to bring him down, not some coward
who'd hidden behind trees to ambush him. She
knew Noble was alone and friendless, and she
tried to find satisfaction in his misery. But
strangely enough she pitied him, and that was her
torment.

She closed her eyes, sinking into the pillow.
Even the smallest exertion seemed to weary her.
Moments later, her eyes flew open when she heard the sounds of hammering and banging from
downstairs. What was Noble doing, tearing the
house apart? She didn't care; her eyes drifted shut
and she floated in the arms of oblivion.

A flurry of activity swirled through Casa del Sol.
Under the gran vaquero's direction the younger vaqueros had been sent into the hills to round up
stray longhorns, while the older men had been set
to work repairing the hacienda. Missing stones
were replaced, the roof tiles put back into place.
The courtyards were swept clean. The fountains
were scrubbed until they sparkled, although they
remained without water. In the house Margretta
directed the women in scrubbing and cleaning
each room. Neglected fireplaces became spotless,
banisters were waxed. The stone floors in the
kitchen were scrubbed until they shone. Copper
pots and pans were polished until the fastidious
Margretta could see her own reflection in them.
The furniture and rugs had been retrieved from
their different hiding places and arranged as they
had been before.

Casa del Sol was being reborn, but Noble knew
the change was only outward. The day might well
come when he could no longer keep the ranch going. But his footsteps were lighter, and the sadness he carried within his heart had lessened. He
had a purpose now, a reason for living. And he
had a debt to repay to the vaqueros and their families, who had stood by him when most people turned their backs on him. He would not forget
their loyalty.

It was early evening and the western sky was still
bloodred from a magnificent sunset. Rachel had
convinced Winna Mae that she was well enough
to go outside into the beautiful enclosed fountain
patio she could see from the bedroom window.
She was becoming restless and irritable, a sure
sign that she was recovering.

Rachel reclined on a woven rope lounge in the
inner courtyard, listening to a Spanish guitar
somewhere in the distance, a nightly ritual she
was beginning to look forward to with relish.
Time passed peacefully, and she realized that it
had grown dark. The moon was glorious, big and
golden, looking as if it were magically suspended
among the stars with the single purpose of bathing the garden with its magnificence.

She turned her head and stared at the huge
fountain of a goddess riding a chariot pulled by
four rearing steeds. Another statue, a young god
of myth, stood atop an ornate pedestal, muscled
and fierce-looking, with his bow drawn as if ready
to fire at some unknown enemy. Rachel thought
it was a pity that there was no water flowing
through the fountains. She would have liked to
have seen them as they were when Don Reinaldo
was alive.

She leaned back to enjoy the beautiful plaintive
song that wove its way through the courtyard.

"It's good to see you up and about, Rachel."

She turned to meet Noble's level gaze.

"I will be going home tomorrow," she said, voicing the first thought that came to her mind.

He pulled a chair up beside her. "So I've been
told."

Her chest grew tight and she had trouble taking
a deep breath. She felt almost shy in his presence,
and she didn't like that feeling. "I was trying to
imagine what this courtyard would look like if
there were water for the fountains."

His gaze swept past her as if he were remembering. "There are three courtyards. This one is
called Courtyard of the Gods. Did you know that,
Rachel?"

"No, I didn't, but it is a fitting name. It must
have been a glorious sight with water rushing
through it and emptying into the pond."

He glanced back to her. "You have not seen the
fountains before?"

"No. I was never in this courtyard until now."

"It was once very peaceful here." He inhaled
deeply and turned his gaze on the marble steeds.
"But that was in another lifetime."

The conversation lagged as they both searched
for something to say. Rachel knew her feelings
were too deep and confused to put into words.

Noble leaned back and glanced upward, his
mind returning to the past. "Beyond this courtyard was once my mother's garden. The flowers are all dead now." His looked at her. "Nothing
stays the same."

She sensed such a sadness in him. She had the
strangest urge to reach out and take his head to
her breast to comfort him. The urge passed
quickly when she realized what his reaction
would be to such an overture on her part.

"House of the Sun, Casa del Sol. It is a tragedy
that it's fallen to ruin."

"Yes," he said, gazing upward to the stars. "Few
families in West Texas have escaped the aftermath
of the war."

"These are sad times for Texas," Rachel agreed,
caught by a strange melancholy. "So many people
I loved are dead."

"We cannot go back, Green Eyes. If we could,
every man, woman and child would mend their
mistakes, and this would be an ideal world."

His voice sounded wooden to her. "Surely the
great Noble Vincente would have nothing to
mend. Would you ever admit to a mistake?"

"Ah, Rachel, stack my mistakes one atop the
other and you would have an archway to the stars.
I am as flawed as the next man, maybe even more
than most."

She could feel his gaze upon her, and she
dipped her head to study her hands, quickly
changing the subject. "I had heard that your sister,
Saber, is staying with relatives in Georgia. Will
you bring her home now that you have returned?"

"I have sent for her. She should be home before
winter sets in."

"Although she was several years younger than I,
I liked her very much."