Emmy's Equal (31 page)

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.”

“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.

Magda ventured into the dimly lit parlor to pay her last respects to John, but the sight of the big man in death disturbed her to the core. The memory of his booming voice and laughing eyes sent her scurrying to her room in tears. Knowing it could’ve been her husband didn’t help. After checking on Willem, she tiptoed across the hall to Bertha’s room.

Bertha let her in then crawled to the middle of the bed and propped her back against the wall. “It’s never easy to look eternity in the face, is it? Especially when it’s a man as alive as John was.”

Magda kicked off her shoes and crawled up beside her. “He was a fine man. I feel for Kate. I don’t see how she’ll manage.”

Bertha grew silent, staring down at her fingers she’d laced together in her lap. Deep furrows creased her brow.

Magda turned over and patted her arm. “What’s wrong, sugar? Something’s in your craw.”

Bertha lifted her brows. “Is this my fault?”

Magda frowned and drew her head back. “Is what your fault?”

Bertha’s thin hand fluttered through the air. “The whole thing—John’s death, what happened to Willem...”

“Oh, Bertha. Of course not.”

Bertha sat up, pleading the case against herself. “If I hadn’t insisted on coming to South Texas, if I hadn’t forced you all to find me some cattle, Willem wouldn’t be lying across the hall with a hole in his head, and John would be sitting to supper with his family tonight.”

Magda picked up her hand and squeezed. “You stop this instant. Willem could just as easily have fallen down the stairs at home. And John had a bad heart. This was coming with or without you.”

She nodded thoughtfully and propped her head on her arms. “I do wish we’d paid closer attention and taken John to a doctor. He was feeling poorly that day, remember? Pale as paste and green around the gills.”

Sadness filled Magda’s chest. “I remember. But at the time, we all looked a little ragged from the heat.” She let go a weary sigh. “I can’t see any way to have avoided his death. I’m just grateful he was right with the Lord so we’ll see him again one day.” She glanced at Bertha. “That fact alone will comfort Willem. I dread breaking the news to him.”

Bertha’s wide eyes darkened with pity. “I wouldn’t be in a big hurry. There’ll be plenty of time to tell him when he’s stronger.”

Magda touched her arm. “He will get stronger, won’t he, Bertha?”

Bertha winked. “I reckon he’s bound to once the good Lord tires of my voice. I’ve sent up more than my share of prayers on Willem’s behalf.” She gave Magda a weighty look. “I don’t want to watch you grieve the way I did for Thad.”

Magda shuddered. “That makes two of us. I hope I never see another soul experience loss the way you did.”

They were silent, Magda picking at a thread on the sheet, Bertha leaning back on her arms staring at the ceiling.

After a bit she leaned to nudge Magda. “Besides, you need Willem. Otherwise you’ll be going back to that big house in Humble all alone.”

Magda studied her mischievous face. “What are you talking about?”

Bertha beamed like a preacher on Sunday. “Don’t tell me you expect to leave this ranch with Emmy in tow?”

Shooting upright, Magda offered a scowl. “I certainly do. Why shouldn’t I?”

Bertha shook her head. “Honey, you must be blind because I know you ain’t stupid. The only way you’ll get Emmy to Humble is to tuck Diego in her satchel—and he won’t fit.” She bent over and pinched Magda’s cheeks. “Our Emmy’s in love or my name ain’t Bertha Bloom. I reckon you’d best start adjusting to the idea. Your daughter will be staying in South Texas.”

Tormented by his thoughts, Diego gazed toward the light in the parlor window, wondering how he’d ever imagined himself a part of the Rawson family. John Rawson had sought him out, encouraged him, and groomed him in the role of a son. Young, fatherless, and confused about his place in the world, Diego had lapped up the attention.

Ironic that Cuddy had felt such envy. In Mr. Rawson’s final hour, he called for Cuddy, clung to Cuddy’s hand as he drew his final breath. Diego hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye.

Even now, the family grieved together behind closed doors while Diego watched from the outside.

The worst evidence of his true place in the Rawsons’ lives—Cuddy’s silence on the ride home.

Scooting closer on the low wall of the patio, Emmy touched his hand. “What can I do?”

He laced his fingers with hers. “You’re doing it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Diego lowered his head and gave her a sideways glance. “There’s not much to tell. We found him too late.” He released a shuddering breath. “Actually, I think it was too late from the first day.”

Emmy squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “He only lasted a few minutes after we got to him.” He raised his head. “He was hanging on just long enough to talk to Cuddy.”

Surprise sparked in her eyes. “And?”

He shrugged. “It was a private conversation.”

“And Cuddy didn’t—”

He shook his head.

Emmy lifted her face to the sky. “I’m so glad they had the chance to talk. I pray Mr. Rawson said the right things.” She faced him. “It will make all the difference in Cuddy’s life.”

Diego remained silent.

“It shows incredible strength, doesn’t it?” she continued. “Living until he could talk to Cuddy. It’s just the sort of thing a man like him would do.” Emmy’s chin shot up and she winced. “Diego, what’s wrong?”

Realizing he’d tightened his fingers around her hand, he released her and covered his face. “I didn’t get to tell him good-bye.”

Emmy gave a soft gasp. “You didn’t speak to him at all?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to.”

“But he didn’t ask for you.” It wasn’t a question. She had figured it out.

Unable to answer, he wagged his head again.

Her arms went around him. “Oh, Diego. I’m so sorry, but I know exactly why he didn’t.”

“So do I,” he whispered. “I’m not his son.”

She pushed off the wall and stooped at his feet. “Look at me.” She pulled his hands from his face. “Look at me, please.”

He lifted his gaze to her passionate eyes.

“John Rawson knew he was dying and out of chances to make things right—and he had to make them right for Cuddy’s sake.” She cupped his cheek. “Mr. Rawson didn’t call for you, and I know that hurts, but he didn’t call for his wife or Greta either. He called for Cuddy because he needed his son’s forgiveness.”

“She’s right, amigo.”

Cuddy bounded down the back steps and sat on the wall beside them. Draping his arm around Diego’s neck, he gave him a little shake. “Forgive me for leaving you hanging, brother.”

The nickname tightened Diego’s gut.

Cuddy shook him harder. “Don’t give me that look. We are brothers. I haven’t been a very good one, but I plan to do better in the future.” He smiled softly. “Starting with an explanation.”

Diego stiffened. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Shut up and listen.”

Emmy stood. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Cuddy caught her arm. “No, you won’t. I have a feeling what I’m about to say has a lot to do with your future.” He waved at the wall. “Sit down.”

Emmy sat, a puzzled frown on her face.

Cuddy braced his hands on the rough stones. “To start off, Emmy’s right. I figured I owed my father a pretty big apology, but he apologized to me instead.” He drew a shaky breath. “He told me while he lay helpless under the stars listening to the coyotes howl and thinking about dying he realized he had wronged me by not accepting me for who I was. He said he was sorry for forcing the ranch down my throat and for trying to turn me into him.” Cuddy stared across the shadowy yard, reliving the conversation. “He said his biggest regret was being so busy trying to change me he never took time to appreciate who I was.”

Ashamed of the envious thoughts he’d harbored, Diego wanted to hang his head, but Cuddy twisted around to look at him. “Father said things to me today I never thought I’d hear come out of his mouth, and I’m so blasted grateful. Then he told me to take care of Mother and Greta.” His eyes burned into Diego’s. “But his last words were for you.”

The breath caught in Diego’s throat. “For me?”

“He told me to tell you he loves you.” Tears swam in Cuddy’s eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve. “Then he kissed me goodbye, and he was gone.”

Diego wrapped his arm around Cuddy’s neck and pulled his head to his chest. They sat quietly, Diego praying for forgiveness. He had longed for Mr. Rawson to accept Cuddy then got jealous when he did. He had also doubted the most important man in his life.

Cuddy sat up and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “There’s one more thing. It looks like you’re stuck with me for a while considering we’re joint heirs.”

Diego stared, struggling to understand. “What are you saying?”

He shrugged. “Father got the last laugh, it seems. He left half of this accursed ranch to me.” Eyes twinkling, he raised his brows at Diego. “And the other half to you. We’re business partners, brother.”

Diego’s head reeled. It was the most meaningful gesture of adoption Mr. Rawson could bestow. “I don’t believe it.”

Cuddy elbowed him. “You’d better start. Father changed his will before he left for Catarina.” He shrugged and his eyes softened. “Before he died, he asked me if I minded. I told him what I’d already told you. I couldn’t run this place without you.” He ducked his head. “I suppose he’d been hiding symptoms. I expect it was the reason for all of his talk about leaving the ranch in capable hands. It seems he decided that should be you and me.”

Still unable to grasp the truth, Diego pressed further. “What about your mother? And Greta?”

Cuddy glanced toward the house. “He left them well cared for. Besides, those two don’t belong in South Texas. Especially now that Father’s gone. Too many memories.”

The news stunned Diego. He turned his gaze toward the house. “What will they do?”

“They’re going back to England. Mother had already decided to send Greta to Ripponden for her education. Now she plans to join her.” He placed his hand on Diego’s back. “As for me, you won’t mind if I do a bit of traveling before I settle down to cattle ranching?” He grinned. “I figure you can muddle along without me for a while.”

Diego smiled. “I’ll do my best. Where will you go?”

Staring in the direction of the road, Cuddy took a deep, cleansing breath. “There’s a lot out there I’ve yet to lay eyes on. I’ve always wanted to do my part to curtail the violence along the Rio Grande. I might see if I can give the Texas Rangers a hand.” His face brightened. “Of course, you know they just had that big earthquake in San Francisco. Who knows what a fellow could get into out there?” He cocked his head. “Then there’s always the East Coast.”

Emmy leaned to look past Diego. “I’m confused, Cuddy. This is all wonderful news, but what does any of it have to do with my future?”

Cuddy stood. “I think that’s my cue to leave you two alone.” He winked at Diego. “Do yourself a favor and enlighten the lady, amigo.”