Emmy's Equal (30 page)

Emmy opened her eyes, expecting to find her legs bound by a blue blanket with six girls lined up at her bedside. Only she wasn’t at the Campbells’ ranch, or even in her cheery room in Humble with the yellow wallpaper and lace curtains. She was in a bedroom at the Rawsons’ ranch beneath the lovely Redwork quilt, basking in the glow of the morning sun.

She stretched and turned over, wincing when the motion fired stinging needles of pain through her shoulder. Sitting up gingerly, she slid aside the delicate sleeve of her pink cotton nightshirt. Bile forced its way up her throat at the sight of four angry red scratches put there by Wayne’s dirty fingernails.

The shuddering remembrance brought others just as grim. The dread on Cuddy’s face when he’d broken the news of his father’s disappearance to his mother; the horror in Mrs. Rawson’s eyes before she collapsed in Cuddy’s arms; poor Greta, forgetting herself in her grief and clinging to Diego; and Emmy’s first look at the bloody wound on her bewildered papa’s head.

A gentle knock roused her from her thoughts. Grateful, she slipped on her robe and opened the door.

Mama stood there, her face pale and marred by weary lines. Still, she gathered Emmy in her arms and kissed the top of her head. “Good morning, sugar. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Emmy rested her head on Mama’s ever-dependable shoulder. “I was awake. How’s Papa?”

Mama held her at arm’s length. “Still sleeping. The doctor said he’ll continue to drift in and out until the swelling goes down in his brain.”

The words heightened the pain building in Emmy’s chest. She pulled away to peer into her mother’s face. “How long will it take?”

“That remains to be seen in this type of accident. The doctor called it a closed skull injury. All along, I thought the stick hurt his head, but that turned out to be a shallow puncture. Your papa damaged his brain by the fall.”

“Will he be all right?”

Mama glanced away, and Emmy’s heart pounded. “Not overnight. He’ll need time to recover, and may have periods of forgetfulness.” She brightened. “With plenty of love and care, we’ll have him good as new in no time.”

Emmy stiffened. Pushing past her mama, she stalked to the patio door.

“Emmy?” Mama said after a moment of silence.

She couldn’t answer.

Determined footsteps approached from behind and her mama’s arms enveloped her. “What is it, lamb?”

“I—” Emmy sniffed and wiped her streaming nose on her sleeve. “I want to help Papa heal,” she sobbed, “but if love and care are what it takes then I can’t.”

Her mama took her shoulders and turned her around. “What do you mean, you can’t? You love him, don’t you?”

“Very much.” The wall inside Emmy fell. The rush of emotion Mama’s question roused stirred a mournful wail from her depths. “But he doesn’t love me!”

Reaching blindly, Emmy wrapped her arms around her mama’s neck and sobbed out years of pain and rejection. Mama held her, cooing quietly and rubbing her back. Spent, Emmy rested against her chest until the gulps and little catches in her breath subsided.

Leading her gently to the bed, Mama sat with her and picked up her hands. The familiar brown eyes studied her. “That’s what you think? That he doesn’t love you?”

Emmy glanced away. “I don’t want to think it, but how could he deal so harshly with someone he loves?” She lifted an accusing gaze. “He’s never harsh with you. I wouldn’t know Papa had a tender side if I hadn’t watched the two of you together.”

“Oh, honey, you’ve got it all wrong. He’s tender with me because he doesn’t have to share me.”

Emmy blinked. “What?”

Incredibly, Mama was smiling. “It’s not that he doesn’t love you. Your papa’s love for you knows no bounds. The truth is he’s jealous of your relationship with Nash.”

“Nash?” Emmy shook her head. “What does any of this have to do with Nash?”

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 another 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.”