Emmy's Equal (32 page)

His head reeling, Diego watched his friend take long strides to the porch.

In sparse words and spare minutes, Cuddy had removed every obstacle standing between Diego and the woman he loved. Before Diego could look at Emmy again, he took a moment to accept it, to allow the truth to burrow deep inside his gut.

The gift God had granted him through John Rawson was a great deal more than part ownership in a South Texas ranch. It was something he didn’t have before, a life worthy to offer Emmy so he could ask her to be his wife. And though the loss of the man would never be worth the inheritance, with Emmy at his side, Diego would honor John Rawson’s wishes and do his best to run the ranch with capable hands.

She tugged at his sleeve. “Diego?”

He couldn’t suppress his silly grin. He gave up trying and turned. “Yes?”

“What did Cuddy mean?”

He tilted his head and studied her guileless eyes. The rascal. Surely she knew, but she would make him say it.

“In his inimitable way, Cuddy was inferring that your future lies here on the Twisted-R Ranch with us.” He picked up her hand. “With me.”

She knew, all right. The twitch of her lips gave her away. She lowered her eyes to their tangled fingers. “And what do you think about that?”

Diego stood, pulling her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her waist. “My impatient nature yearns to stomp about and order it done. But a gentleman must leave the decision in the lady’s hands.”

Swirling her around so the lantern on the low wall would light their faces, he raised one brow. “Well, then? Has the lady reached a decision?”

Sadness darkened her features, snuffing the glow of her broad smile.

He tilted her head up to his. “Forgive me, Emmy. I don’t mean to rush you. I’ll wait ... as long as it takes.”

Her brows drew into a knot. “It’s not that, Diego. I just ... well, I was thinking about Papa. We’re supposed to ask for his blessing.”

Diego leaned back and released his breath in a rush. “Your father’s blessing. Of course. And I will ask him, Emmy. Your papa will recover very soon. You must believe this. And when he does, I’ll ask for his lovely daughter’s hand.”

Smiling down at her again, he kissed her softly on her pouting mouth. “And this is your final objection?”

She bit her bottom lip as if to corral her amusement. It didn’t work. “Well, there is one more.”

He blinked. “One more?”

She nodded. “You haven’t really asked
me
yet.”

Stunned, Diego stared at her. Shaking his head at his own incompetence, he guided her back to the wall and eased her down. Lowering himself to one knee, he took her by the hand. “Miss Dane? If you will allow me ... I’d like to correct my blunder.”

Diego opened the door of the jacal and gazed inside. His mother glanced over her shoulder and then rose from her knees where she’d been praying. “Come in, son.” She started for the stove. “I saved you some bean soup. It won’t take a minute to warm.”

He crossed the room and took her shoulders, guiding her toward the kitchen table. “It’s not food I’ve come for.”

Curiosity flickered on her face. “Oh?”

He sat down across from her. “I’ve come to tell you some news.” Smiling, she reached across the table for his hands. “What news do you have for me?”

He ducked his head and peered into her eyes. “Suppose I said you never have to leave the Twisted-R Ranch?”

Her brows crowded together. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He squeezed her fingers. “What if you could move to the big house, pick out the room of your choice? You wouldn’t have to stand over a hot stove anymore because Rosita would cook our food. One day you’d bounce my children on your knee under the portico. You’d grow old and die right here on this land and be buried beside the river.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Or would you prefer to be buried next to the onion fields behind the jacal?”

Scowling darkly, his mother pursed her lips. “Diego! Before you plant me with the onions, first explain what you’re saying.”

He drew back. She had called him Diego, the only time in his life she’d done so. “What did you say?”

“I said to tell me what you’re babbling about.”

“No, why did you call me Diego?”

Pain dimming her eyes, she released his hands and lifted her chin. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

For the second time in one night, Diego’s head spun. In one glaring second, he saw the truth. His mother’s efforts to keep him proud of his Choctaw roots were really a refusal to allow him to be ashamed of her. Out of love for him, she was willing to give up that right.

He reached for her hands again, but she pulled them into her lap. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me why I would go live inside the big house when I’d rather stay in my own home.”

With his fingernail, he picked at a crack in the tabletop. “Suppose I told you the big house
is
your home?”

Her eyes opened wider than he’d ever seen them. “I would say you have some explaining to do.”

Laughing, he told her about Mr. Rawson’s generous gift, about Mrs. Rawson’s decision to leave, and about Cuddy’s travel plans. When he finished, she sat back in her chair looking shocked.

Disappointed, he watched her closely. “I thought you’d be happy.”

She smiled. “I think I need time to accept something so wonderful.” “There’s more.”

“More than what you’ve already told me?” She covered her heart. “I’m not sure I can handle more.”

“I’ve asked Emmy to be my wife.”

This time she reached for his hands. “Oh, Diego! I’m so pleased. Emmy will make you so happy.”

He stood, pulling her up with him. “If you want to make me happy, call me Isi.”

She blinked up at him. “But I thought—”

He pulled her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “This is no time for you to abandon our heritage. I’ll need you to teach the Choctaw way to your grandchildren.”

Choking on a sob, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you, Isi.”

He kissed her again. “I love you, too, Mother.”

They buried Mr. Rawson the next day in Cuddy’s favorite place, beneath a live oak near the bank of the Nueces River. It was a solemn ceremony yet filled with the promise of hope for a believer’s heart.

Emmy watched Cuddy’s face as the preacher assured those present they would see their loved one again, as long as they put their trust in God’s provision for making heaven.

When it was over, her mama, Aunt Bertha, Rosita, and Melatha huddled protectively around Mrs. Rawson and Greta, helping them into the wagon and signaling Little Pete to drive them to the house.

Cuddy hung back. Though his expression sagged with grief as he watched his mother and sister go, he didn’t seem eager to leave the gravesite. When the wagon disappeared over the rise, he leaned his back against the oak tree and slid to the ground, staring toward the water.

Shifting her attention to Diego, Emmy squeezed his hand. “Are you all right?”

He pulled her into his arms. “I will be.”

He held her for a moment then pushed her to arm’s length. As if he’d read her mind, he nodded toward Cuddy. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

She nodded and kissed his cheek.

Cuddy glanced up as she approached but remained silent.

She dipped to the ground beside him and took his hand. “This is such a nice spot.”

He nodded. “The Twisted-R was a part of my father. It’s comforting to know he’ll remain a part of this ranch forever.” He glanced toward Diego and laughed. “Diego’s the only person I’ve ever seen that loved South Texas better than my father. Diego calls this place God’s country.”

She smiled. “You don’t agree with him, do you?”

He shrugged. “I just always wondered why God’s country would have thorns and stickers on everything you touched. But I’ve been thinking about something my father told me.”

Emmy tilted her head. “What’s that?”

Cuddy’s gaze swung to the scatter of new-growth mesquite and the steadily invading cactus. “He said with most of the grassland going to scrub, the trees and bushes grow thorns for protection. Otherwise, the cattle and deer would strip this part of the country down to nothing.”

He sighed. “Thinking about it now, it reminds me of myself, considering I’ve always been a fairly sticky problem for my parents. I’m not making excuses, but I guess I act prickly for protection.” He raised his brow. “Still, I’m not especially proud of the things I’ve done.”

Emmy said a quick prayer for guidance. “But your father loved you anyway, didn’t he? Prickly or not?”

Cuddy stared down at his hands. “Yes, he did.”

“He not only asked you to forgive him, he forgave you, didn’t he?”

Cuddy nodded. “From the moment I knelt beside him, he acted as though I’d never disappointed him.”

She lifted his chin with her finger. “God’s the same way, Cuddy.” Understanding dawned in his eyes. He grasped her wrist with the passion of a drowning man. “I want my face to glow like yours does when you talk about God. I want to be able to whisper a prayer in a storm and know He heard.” His voice broke. “I want to see my father again.”

Her heart swelling with gratitude toward God, Emmy gazed into Cuddy’s earnest blue eyes. “It’s yours for the taking, Cuddy. All you have to do is kneel by His side.”

Emmy opened the wide doors to the veranda and stared toward the fields, hoping to catch sight of Diego. Her heart skipped as he rode past the bunkhouse to the barn. Taking no time to go around, she rolled across the bed between her and the door and dashed for the stairs.

Grinning at the familiar scene of her papa sitting behind a newspaper, Emmy waved as she passed him. He lowered the paper and blew her a kiss.

Three months had passed while Papa recovered from his head injury. He grew stronger every day, and the only memory loss he suffered was of the accident itself, which was a blessing.

Emmy sat with him often while he needed her, reading a book or the headlines of
The Javelin,
but lately he’d been able to read them for himself. He seemed a different person toward her from the time his mind had cleared, and they laughed and talked with ease.

When Emmy wasn’t with Papa, she spent her days riding fences with Diego, picking beans with Melatha, and learning to cook tortillas with Rosita.

The feisty cook had opened up her kitchen and her arms to Emmy. Her disapproving glances and disparaging remarks in Spanish had stopped without explanation. Diego felt his mother had a hand in Rosita’s change of heart, and Emmy agreed.

Kate Rawson took Greta and left the Twisted-R two weeks after she buried her husband by the river. She apologized profusely for leaving her company behind, but Mama assured her she understood.

Eager to meet her grandson, Aunt Bert rode to Uvalde with the Rawsons to catch the train to Humble. She promised to return in time for the wedding, bringing Charity and the baby, Buddy, and Nash along with her. Before she left, she contacted her friend Darius in Eagle Pass. He came to see her off, promising to see her again very soon.

Cuddy postponed his trip to California the minute he got wind of the upcoming wedding. He said they’d have to start putting San Francisco back together without him, since Diego would need a best man.

Sailing out the back door, Emmy ran as fast as a lady should to the barn. Rounding the corner, she plowed into Diego coming from the other direction.

“Whoa!” he yelled, grabbing her around the waist and twirling her. Laughing, she clung to him a little tighter than necessary to maintain her balance. Eyes twinkling, he tilted her chin. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“To fetch you for lunch.” She narrowed her eyes and affected a haughty stance. “Mole poblano. I made it myself.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Aren’t you becoming the perfect little rancher’s wife?”

She touched the hollow in his chin. “Not yet. Making me a rancher’s wife is your job.”

He furrowed his brow in mock disapproval. “Brazen, aren’t you?”

“I usually get what I set my cap for.”

A fire in his eyes, he tugged her close. “So do I, Miss Dane. Next week won’t come soon enough to suit me.” He kissed the end of her nose. “Is Mama Dane still mad at me?”

Her mama had balked in the beginning when she learned Emmy planned to marry Diego and stay on the ranch when they left. She’d tried to convince them to wait a more respectable six months out of respect for Mr. Rawson.

Cuddy, unable to delay his plans that long, had intervened.

Emmy’s lips pulled into a frown. “Mama would rather we waited. We’re spoiling her plans for the wedding she’s always dreamed for me.” She caressed his cheek. “But I suspect your charm has won her over. She’s actually getting excited about the party your mama and Rosita have planned.”

“Pachanga,” he corrected. “If you’re going to live among the people of South Texas, you must learn to speak our language.”

Emmy wrinkled her nose. “Sí, señor. A muy big wedding pachanga with our friends and family in attendance.” She patted his shoulders. “Oh, Diego, I can hardly wait to see Charity and Nash.” She gasped. “And little Thad! I’ll finally see Charity’s baby.”

He tilted her chin. “And your father won’t mind you being so eager to see Nash?”

Smiling softly, Emmy shook her head. “The old grumpy Papa might have. My kind and gentle Papa won’t mind a bit. He accepts my love for Nash because he knows I love him, too.” She stared dreamily over Diego’s shoulder. “Speaking of little Thad ... we’ll have children of our own someday, won’t we?”

Diego kissed her forehead. “As many as you wish.”

She met his eyes. “Very well. I wish for six. All feisty little girls like the Campbells.”

He shrank back. “All girls? I don’t get one little vaquero to help me with chores?”

“A boy?” She scrunched up her face. “Well, maybe one.”

He tapped her nose. “I’m not worried. After you hold Charity’s son, you’ll ask for six of each.”

She feigned shock. “Six boys? Heaven forbid!”

Laughing, he took her hand and pulled her along with him. “Come, I want to tell you something.” He reentered the barn and led her to Faron’s stable.

The horse came toward them and tucked his head over the stall to nuzzle Diego’s hand.

Diego gave Emmy a guarded look. “I’ve decided to turn him loose.”

Emmy’s jaw dropped and her gaze swung to the horse. “Turn him loose? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

He ran his hands down the sleek black neck. “I can’t believe I’m saying it. But, I tried putting him in a fence again. He was gone by morning.” He turned thoughtful eyes to her. “I won’t keep him penned in this stall.”

“Won’t someone else get him?”

He laughed. “Even if they caught him, he’d escape again. Besides, he’s smart. If he hadn’t trusted me, he’d never have allowed me to catch him in the first place.” He scratched Faron’s nose. “You agree completely, don’t you, amigo?” Pulling a wilted carrot from his pocket, he offered it to the snuffling horse then unlatched the stall door.

Emmy’s eyes widened. “Now?”

Diego gave her a look of resignation. “Can you think of a reason to wait?”

She followed in amazement as Diego led Faron outside the barn and took off his lead.

The horse seemed reluctant at first, bumping Diego with his nose and nuzzling his pocket.

“No more carrots, my friend. Or saddles. You’ll have to learn to live without them both.”

As if Faron understood, he bobbed his head and whirled away, trotting down the drive with his tail lifted proudly before bolting into a run outside the gate.

Emmy reached for Diego’s hand. “Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

“If he does, it will be because he wants to, but don’t expect it. There’s plenty of space for him out there, and space is what he needs.”

Emmy smiled up at him. “Like Cuddy.”

Diego circled her waist with his arm. “Just like Cuddy. He spent his whole life trying to break free. His father turned him loose and he can’t wait to run.”

She wiggled her finger. “Mr. Rawson freed Cuddy’s mind and heart. It took God to free his spirit. Cuddy won’t need to run. He can fly.”

Diego pulled the clip from her hair and buried his fingers in her curls. “I’m soaring pretty high myself these days.”

She puckered her lips in thought. “Oh, really? Does this mean I need to give you plenty of space, too?”

Diego hooked his thumb toward his chest. “Me?” He grinned. “I won’t kick against my stall, mi querida. I’ve spent my life finding out where I belong.”

She raised questioning brows. “And have you?”

He nodded solemnly, the depths of his heart shining from his eyes. “You know our twelve children will be part Indian, don’t you?”

She laughed heartily. “And part Spanish, Irish, German, Italian, Swedish ... and goodness knows what else.”

He lowered his gaze and busied his fingers with her collar. “Would you mind very much if we raised them to embrace the Choctaw way?” He glanced up shyly. “The way of faith and peace?”

Emmy took his face in her hands. “The way of faith and peace is found in every culture that honors God, Diego, but I’d be honored to have your mother help me raise our children. After all”—she kissed his chin—“look how well their father turned out.”