Emmy's Equal (9 page)

The warmth of his eyes, lingering on Emmy as he bid her good night, sent chills down her spine. Greta, obviously lost in thoughts she’d not likely share, stared longingly toward a spot past the archway where he had disappeared.

Mrs. Rawson signaled to one of the girls. She ducked into the kitchen and returned with a stack of small plates and a tray filled with sweets. Serving dessert to her husband, Mrs. Rawson raised one tapered brow. “If I may be honest, John, I’m glad Faron got out again. I hope he pulls up lame this time, and you have to shoot him.” She passed the tray to Willem then demurely folded her napkin across her lap. “Better yet, perhaps the stubborn thing will bail off into the river and break his hateful neck.”

John Rawson paused mid-bite then laid down his fork and stared. “Why, Kate. It’s not like you to say so mean-spirited a thing.”

She regarded him matter-of-factly. “That animal is the devil himself. I fear I’ll live to see him kill you. If not Cuddy or Diego.”

Her husband dropped his big hand over hers. “There’s no danger of Faron killing anyone, honey. No one can ride him. He’s strong-willed is all. I like that trait in an intelligent creature.” He leaned to caress her chin. “The very thing that attracted me to you was your feisty nature.”

Concern softened her features, and she swatted his arm. “Stop. I’m serious. It makes no sense to keep that stallion on the ranch. He’s never been anything but a nuisance.”

Papa settled his elbows on the table. “Tell me about this horse, John.”

Eyes aglow, Mr. Rawson faced him. “Oh, he’s a beauty, Willem. Purebred Spanish. Andalusian, you see. Black as thunder with a heart to match and shrewder than the two of us put together, not to mention the fastest thing on four legs. I admit he’s the meanest bundle of horseflesh ever spawned, but”—he twisted around to wink at his wife—“he’s worth every second of trouble.”

Easing back in his chair, he reached for a small cake to nibble. “The thing is, Faron will only let me near him.” He absently waved his hand. “Well, Diego, of course, and he tolerates Little Pete, the man you saw earlier.” Leaning in, he nodded for emphasis. “But no man can ride the ornery beast. You should’ve been here the first time I tried.” He chuckled. “The old boy put up a right rowdy kerfuffle.”

Aunt Bertha blinked. “That’s a good thing?”

The Rawsons laughed so heartily, Emmy’s family had to join them, including Aunt Bert.

“Bertha, my dear, let’s just say he won the skirmish and leave it at that.”

For the first time, Emmy realized Diego’s mother had slipped away unnoticed. Though she had gone, the memory of her probing eyes still warmed Emmy’s flesh.

Mrs. Rawson placed her delicate hands on Papa’s and Mr. Rawson’s forearms. “Let’s take our coffee on the veranda, shall we? It’s a beautiful night.”

Diego ran his palm over Faron’s trembling flank.

The horse sidestepped into the wall of the stall, snorting his disapproval.

“I know you don’t like small spaces, señor, but that’s too bad. Perhaps a few days without liberty to move will teach you to appreciate the freedom of your pasture.”

Faron kicked at the boards behind him.

Diego laughed. “Spit and sputter all you like, young man. You won’t be getting out of here.” He brought his ear closer to Faron’s nose. “What’s that you say? Pretty señoritas throughout the county will be pining for you? I understand completely, for I suffer the same dilemma. Good looks are a curse, are they not?”

Pulling a wilted carrot from his pocket, Diego snapped off the root. “Perhaps this will soothe your battered ego, my friend.”

Faron snuffled the offering, lifted it from Diego’s palm with his soft lips, then nuzzled for more.

“Hungry, eh? I suppose so, after all your carousing. Tell you what, let’s get you something more substantial, shall we?” He chuckled and jumped off the rail to the ground, giving Faron one last scratch between the ears. “Adios for now. Try to behave yourself, sí?” On the way out of the barn, he gave instructions for the horse to be fed and groomed.

As he neared the back door to report to Mr. Rawson, voices from the terrace led him through the hedges instead. A dozen lanterns set along the low-walled enclosure lit the patio while a healthy blaze in the fire pit flickered on the relaxed faces of the Rawsons and their guests. A coffee service rested on the table in front of the women. Deep in conversation, the men took their ease in comfortable padded chairs.

When Emily Dane came into sight, he paused in the shadows to watch her. She sat some distance from the others, balancing a cup of coffee on her knees while she gazed at the starlit sky. With her head thrown so far back, her neck looked impossibly long, and the moonlight turned her skin the same shade as the bone china she held. She sat up and sipped her coffee, the motion pursing the generous lips he couldn’t stop thinking about to save his life.

“Diego?”

He leaped, warmth flooding his body. “Greta. I didn’t see you there.”

“Of course not. You weren’t looking for me.” She tried to smile, but suspicion crept into her eyes. “Have you taken to skulking in bushes and spying on my family?”

Burning with shame, he laughed to make light of her comment. “I was on my way to speak to your father. I found Faron. Courting a filly in Mr. Tumlinson’s pasture.”

A genuine smile back in place, she slid her arm through his. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear. Let’s go tell him.”

John Rawson’s deep rumble held court over his guests as they approached. “Both our families lived in Ripponden near Halifax, overlooking the River Ryburn. An overly impressive name for hardly more than a stream running through the village.” He gazed around as if the night hadn’t shrouded the scenery in darkness. “Nothing at all like this place.”

Mr. Dane lowered his saucer to the table. “Tell us about the region, John.”

“South Texas? You could say it’s a country inhabited by bandits on both sides of the border. They’re locked in a dispute over land rights—a battle as old as Genesis. Which is a whole other story, and I’ve talked long enough.” He glanced up at Greta and Diego. “Here’s the man who can fill you in on the landscape. He’s chased my horse across it from east to west. Did you find him, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew without asking, or else you wouldn’t be standing here. I see you made it back in one piece, but has he?”

“Not a scratch, though that could change by morning. I’ve locked him in a stall.”

Mr. Rawson shook his head. “I hate to hear that.” He sighed. “Well, there’s no remedy for it, is there?”

“None that I can see.”

“Very well, then. Pull up a chair and enjoy the night air. You deserve a rest.” He glanced around the terrace. “Where’d that Cuddy get off to? He was here a minute ago.”

Emily leaned to look past her father. “Cuddy went into the house, sir. He said he’d be right back.”

Diego nodded at the older folks and gave Emily a tight smile before settling into the empty chair next to her. Cuddy’s vacated seat, no doubt.

Greta flounced over and dropped onto the chaise alongside her mother. Tight-lipped and sullen, she was obviously angry.

What did she expect? He could hardly stretch his six-foot-three body onto that silly reclining chair between Mrs. Dane and Mrs. Rawson. Peeved, he determined to ignore her.

“I’ve never seen so many stars.” Emily’s breathless voice suited the night. Serene yet refreshing, like the pleasant breeze blowing from the west.

Diego gazed at the canopy of pinpoint lights, thicker than lentil stew in places. “Are there no stars in Humble, Texas?”

“Of course, but not like these.”

He chuckled. “They are the very same ones, I assure you. It’s only the unobstructed view and the absence of light here that makes them seem to jump right out of the sky.”

In the near distance, a lone coyote howled, followed by a series of short, high-pitched yips. Its quavering cry was soon answered, the mournful howl even closer than the first.

Emily shivered and glanced behind her.

“Are you cold, Miss Dane? I can fetch you a shawl. Despite the warmth of the days, nights in Carrizo can be quite cool. Especially when the wind blows.”

She settled back again. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. It’s very kind of you, though, considering...”

He angled his chair toward her. “Considering?”

She placed her cup on the arm of the chair and laced her hands in her lap, staring at them. She hadn’t yet looked at him straight on, and he found himself wishing she would. After a tense silence, her lashes swept up and she gazed into his eyes. “I never apologized for ruining your hat.”

He held up his hand. “No apologies necessary, I assure you.”

“I’ve never done anything so awful before. I won’t rest until you say you forgive me.”

He grinned. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we? Consider yourself officially forgiven.”

Her dimples hit bottom as she giggled and pulled her gaze away. “Very good. Can we start over?”

Diego’s heart danced a peculiar jig in his chest. “I’d like that.” An uneasy silence passed before he leaned closer. “So ... how do we go about starting over?”

She turned in her chair and offered her hand. “Let’s begin with this, since I spoiled it last time. I’m Emily Dane. Happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Diego Marcelo, ma’am.” He held out his hand and Emily gave it a vigorous shake.

She laughed merrily and so did he.

“Do me a great favor, Mr. Marcelo, and call me Emmy. It’s the name my friends use, and I much prefer it to Emily.”

“Emmy. Very nice. I will, but only if you call me Diego.”

“I’ve never heard that name before. I believe I like it.” A curious light touched her eyes. “I noticed your mama calls you something different.”

Flustered, he cleared his throat. “Yes, she—”

“
¡Oye,
amigo, I see you’ve kept my seat warm for me.”

Cuddy’s firm grip on Diego’s shoulder startled him, but not as much as the cloying scent of his breath. It angered Diego that he would do so reckless a thing with his father seated a few feet away. He glared up into Cuddy’s eyes. “I believe you forgot something in the house, my friend.”

“Oh? And what was that?” Cuddy’s answer was slurred.

“Your blanket and pillow. It’s long past your bedtime, I see.”

Cuddy’s boisterous laugh was too loud. Diego waited for Mr. Rawson’s head to spin around, but the man was engrossed in his friends. Diego swung his gaze to Emmy.

Watching Cuddy with understanding eyes, she held out her cup to Diego. “I could use more of that strong, hot coffee, please. Pour Cuddy some while you’re there, why don’t you?”

Diego nodded gratefully and took the saucer from her hand. Cuddy slipped into Diego’s chair the second he found it free, but Diego didn’t mind. Better to have him seated than staggering over the veranda.

As he bent to pour, Mr. Rawson touched his arm. “Here’s the man to ask, Bertha. Son, the lady’s interested in buying some cattle. Who do we know that may have some for sale?”

Diego returned the pot to the tray without pouring. “As a matter of fact, there’s a rancher down Catarina way who’s looking to thin his pastures. Started his herd from stock off the Taft Ranch. They’re breeding quality cattle down there.”

“You know him?”

“Somewhat. I’m acquainted with both of his sons.”

“Catarina?” Mr. Dane asked. “I’m not familiar with that town.”

“It’s not a town, Willem,” Mr. Rawson said. “Just a sizable ranch owned by a fellow named Charles Taft. Nowadays they call the whole region Catarina.” He looked at Diego. “What’s the man’s name that’s selling his stock?”

“Buck Campbell, sir. His sons are Lester and Joe.”

Mrs. Bloom scooted closer. “Can you take me there?”

Diego studied her face. She wasn’t joking. “It’s a long ride, ma’am. Twenty miles or better over rough terrain. A wagon might bear up on that rugged trail, but it’ll slow you down considerably. Can you ride a horse?”

“I reckon so.” Looking insulted, she waved at the surroundings. “I may not live way out like this, but we ain’t exactly from the city.”

Diego bit back a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mr. Rawson shook his head. “I couldn’t do without Diego around here, Mrs. Bloom, but there’s no reason I couldn’t take you folks to Catarina.”

Emmy’s mother frowned and leaned forward in her chair. “Bertha, this is taking a turn toward crazy. I thought you came here to learn about cattle, not carry half of them back to Humble.”

“I want me some South Texas cows.”

“We have cows back home.”

“Not like these. Willem said they breed the finest stock here, and I won’t settle for less.”

Sighing with exasperation, Mrs. Dane attempted a final argument. “Just how do you propose to get them home? There’s no more room in your satchel.”

Mrs. Bloom winked. “Why do you reckon that satchel’s so full? I already studied on ways to get them home. By rail, for one. They have special cars that carry cattle all over this country.” She nudged Mr. Rawson. “Ain’t that so?”

“Yes, it’s so, and it’ll be no problem to load yours at the station in Uvalde. As long as you have the money to pay for shipping.”

She leveled him with a gaze. “I have the money.”

He lifted his eyes to the Danes.

“She has the money,” they said in unison.

“The Humble oil boom,” Mr. Dane explained.

Mr. Rawson chuckled. “Very well, then. I suppose you do.”

Mrs. Rawson touched her husband’s arm. “How do you propose to get them from Catarina to Uvalde, John?”

He sat tall in his chair. “We’ll drive them, Katie! By golly, this is still South Texas. The devil’s rope be hanged!”

Mrs. Bloom gave an excited hoot. “The devil’s rope? What’s that?”

“Barbed wire, ma’am. The worst thing to ever happen to a drover.” He patted her hand. “But don’t you worry. We’ll stick to the roads and trails and still get your stock to Uvalde in perfect health.” He picked up the coffeepot and poured a cup for himself, then filled the two in Diego’s hands. “So it’s settled. We’ll start planning our trip tomorrow.” He wagged his big finger in Mrs. Bloom’s face. “But there’s no need to get in a hurry. I have plans to show you around Carrizo Springs before we traipse all over Catarina. So sit back and enjoy your coffee.”

The swish of shoes on the sandy soil beyond the tile caught his attention. He swiveled in his chair to look. “And here’s our Rosita, with
empanadas
fresh from the oven if my nose doesn’t lie. Grab one, folks, and eat them while they’re hot.”

Diego waited until the ladies were served, then wrapped a pie in a napkin and tucked it under his arm. Hustling back to where Emmy and Cuddy sat, he handed Emmy her coffee. “Forgive me. I was detained.” He shoved the other cup and pie to Cuddy. “Eat this,” he growled, “and no arguments. You need food on your stomach.”

Cuddy reeled drunkenly and laughed. Leaning close to peer into Emmy’s eyes, he pointed at Diego. “He thinks I’ve had one too many.”

She drew away and held her napkin to her nose. “I’m afraid he may be right. Please eat something, Cuddy.”

He waved his hand. “Nah! Not hungry.” He swung to Diego. “I’ve just been telling Miss Emily about the river. She agreed to let me show it to her tomorrow.” He took hold of Diego’s shoulder and shook him. “What do you think about that, amigo?”

Diego looked over his shoulder. Mr. Rawson and Mrs. Bloom were huddled together, rambling about cattle no doubt. The others sat talking, not paying the least bit of attention. Except for Greta. She reclined on the chaise, twisting a napkin into a knot and casting doe-eyed glances their way. He sighed. If she would only turn away, he could somehow get Cuddy into the house.

“Diego?”

Emmy’s urgent voice sent a jolt along his spine. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes wide with concern, she tipped her head at Cuddy, slumped in the chair and dead to the world. “I’m afraid you were too late with that coffee.”

Diego handed off Cuddy’s spilled cup to her and knelt to steady him in the chair. “I have to get him to his room without his father’s notice.”

Her eyes shifted to Mr. Rawson. “How will you manage with him so close?”

“I’ll need a favor from you. Can you create a diversion?”

Emmy seemed eager to help. “I’ll try.” Standing, she smoothed her shirt and, with a grimace over her shoulder at Diego, sauntered toward the others.

“Emily,” Mrs. Rawson called, “it’s about time you decided to join us.” She patted the end of Greta’s chaise. “Have a seat right here. I’ll serve you one of Rosita’s sweet pies. She’s renowned in Dimmit County for her empanadas.”

Greta snatched her legs away as if in danger of losing them.

Emmy ignored her and delicately perched on the chaise. She accepted Mrs. Rawson’s offering then clutched her mother’s arm. “Mama, tell our hosts how oil was discovered on Aunt Bertha’s land.” She turned a dazzling smile on John Rawson. “I believe you’ll find this story quite entertaining.”