Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (7 page)

Noble released her immediately, amusement in
his expression. He knew how his kiss had affected her. "I don't know if you realize it, Green Eyes,
but you have issued a challenge-which I shall accept."

Rachel stared at him for a long moment. She
hadn't challenged him. She rubbed her hand
across her lips as if she were wiping away the taste
of his mouth, but knew she could never erase the
memory of that kiss. She had hoped to find his
weakness, and instead he'd discovered hers.

"I will prove you killed my father, Noble." She
hated the fact that her voice trembled her whole
body trembled, for that matter. She had to forget
the sensation of his lips against hers and remember that he was her enemy. "Soon, all of Texas will
hear about your guilt. Then Sheriff Crenshaw will
be forced to arrest you."

He seemed to be ignoring her when he bent
down to pull weeds from his father's grave. Then
he glanced up at her. "Do your worst, Rachel. I
always thought you were different from Delia, but
perhaps I was wrong."

Fury erupted within her. "How dare you speak
insultingly about Delia! You haven't even asked
about her or the baby. How can you be so heartless?"

He closed his eyes and then stood. "How is Delia? How is her baby, Rachel?"

She felt a lump in her throat and feared she
would cry. "Delia lost your baby."
I in sorry.

"Are you sad about the baby? Don't you care about what Delia has suffered? Have you nothing
more to say?"

"Nothing I said at the moment would make an
impression on you. You have judged me guilty
without asking me if I fathered your sister's child."

Suddenly his eyes were profoundly sad, and
weariness was reflected there, as if he'd witnessed
too much and valued too little. With a suddenness
that startled her, pity for him rose like a wellspring inside her.

Noble's gaze slid away from her and just as suddenly the sensation of sadness vanished. He had
retreated behind an unreadable mask, leaving Rachel confused and shaken.

Without a word he walked away, leaving Rachel
alone with her troubled thoughts. Her earlier confidence had been vanquished by a pair of probing
brown eyes. He'd won the first confrontation, but
she was not beaten. They would meet again; she'd
make certain of it.

She found Faro where she'd left the mare,
mounted and galloped toward the Brazos. Like
some inexperienced young girl, she'd allowed herself to be captivated by Noble's obvious maleness.
He would not find her so vulnerable the next time
they met.

With her troubled thoughts as her companions,
she rode home, a part of her holding on to the
memory of that dashingly handsome Spaniard
who'd conquered the wild mare. Then there was
the sad stranger she'd met today.

"Which one is the true Noble?" she whispered
to herself. And her lips formed the words, "The
one who killed your father."

She bent low in the saddle, riding homeward
and away from the man who occupied the hacienda of Casa del Sol.

Tascosa Springs, Texas

Like many towns that had sent young men off to
fight for the South, Tascosa Springs had fallen on
hard times. And the residents realized that the
times would only get worse, because the conquering North had become the ruling authority in
Texas.

The town itself was made up of several weatherbeaten buildings, the exception being the new redbrick tax office that stood beside the bank.
McVee's Mercantile stood next door to Baker's
Hotel. Further down the partially rotted boardwalk, the Crystal Palace Saloon was adjacent to
Goodies ranch supply store, where shovels and rakes leaned against the wall beside the door.
Across the dusty street the sheriff's office was located beside the two-story structure that served as
an apothecary on the first floor, and the doctor's
office upstairs. At Tuttle's Blacksmith the contentious clanging of the smithy's hammer was accompanied by the acrid smell of Tuttle's stoked
fire.

The sun was white-hot and the wind raked over
exposed skin like searing particles of grit. Still, a
knot of people had gathered in front of McVee's,
watching Noble Vincente dismount and loop the
reins of his horse around the rickety hitching post.
Men who'd known Noble all his life watched him
scornfully while their wives put their heads together, elbows nudging and whispering among
themselves.

Noble nodded curtly as he passed the group, but
didn't break his stride as he entered the store. Anger boiled inside him, but he kept it under tight
control. Clearly his neighbors still believed that
he'd killed Sam Rutledge. Nothing he could say
would change their minds, and he didn't care to
try.

The storekeeper, Jess McVee, broke away from
the others with a sour expression on his face, and
followed Noble into the store, where he stood disapprovingly.

Noble studied the storekeeper, thinking he
hadn't changed in the years he'd been away. Jess
was a small man, with hair the color of dirty well water. His small, mouselike eyes darted nervously
about the store before they rested on Noble. "I
need supplies, Jess." Noble shoved a list at him.
"Will you have these items delivered to Casa del
Sol for me?"

"I gotta say this or I'll choke on it. If I didn't need
the money, I'd tell you what you could do with
your order," Jess stated, his breath coming out in
panting gasps.

An impatient intake of breath expanded Noble's
chest, and he regarded the man silently. When Noble spoke he didn't raise his voice, but his words
were delivered with the intensity of a whiplash.
"It's good to know how low a man will sink for the
sake of money, Jess." Noble turned away and deliberately counted out several bills atop the
scarred counter. "Put whatever is left over on my
account. Have the supplies delivered to Casa del
Sol today."

Jess swallowed his resentment because there
was something about a Vincente that demanded
respect. Whatever that something was, it ran
strong in Noble. Jess nodded reluctantly. "I'll see
to your order, and it'll be delivered today."

He watched as Noble departed. The younger
Vincente's aristocratic head was held high, his
back ramrod straight, his strides long.

The women who had been pressing their faces
against the window to get a glimpse of Noble now
rushed inside, anxious to hear every word Noble Vincente had uttered. Their questions flew fast
and furious.

"Where has he been all these years?"

"Is he back to stay?"

"Did he marry that woman from Spain?"

"Did he bring a wife home with him?"

"Will he bring his sister back from Georgia?"

"Do you suppose Rachel Rutledge knows he's
back?"

Jess McVee brushed their questions aside as he
watched Noble cross the street, walking in the direction of the sheriff's office. He shivered, remembering the fierceness of those cold brown eyes. "I
wouldn't want to be the one to make him mad,"
he told the others. "You can do what you want,
but the next time he comes into my store, I'll be
more respectful."

Harvey Briscal was slumped over the desk, almost
asleep, when he heard someone enter. He raised
his head and yawned, ill-tempered because his
nap had been interrupted. "Sheriffs not here. If
you've got business with him, come back later."

The man was a stranger to Noble. He took note
of the man's shaggy brown hair, thin face and
hooded eyes, then looked at the deputy's star
pinned to his stained leather vest. Noble grasped
a rickety wooden chair, turned it around and
propped his booted foot on it. "If the sheriff's not
here, I'll talk to you."

Noble watched the deputy lean forward, shaking his head to come fully awake.

"You certainly aren't from around here,
stranger," Harvey observed. "Not one of the ranchers or cowhands I know." His sleepy gaze fastened
on Noble's crisp, white shirt and buff-colored
leather pants with a dark brown stripe down the
legs. Envy crept into his eyes as he took in the
ivory-handled six-gun that hung about Noble's
waist. It wasn't difficult to tell that this stranger
was a man of importance. "What's your name?"
Harvey asked.

Noble's eyes were hard and probing. After the
incident with Jess McVee, he was in no mood to
suffer fools. "You first," he said forcefully. "Tell me
who you are."

Harvey puffed out his meager chest and said
with pride, "I'm the deputy sheriff."

Noble's lip curled in distaste. "I already guessed
that. What's your name?"

Harvey's mouth formed a sneer. He shifted his
slight weight and straightened to his full height,
which was a head shorter than the Spaniard. He
tugged at pants that were a size too big for him,
and adjusted them about his waist. "I'll be asking
the questions here. State your business."

Noble turned the chair around, slowly and deliberately. He then sat down and crossed his long
legs. "I'm Noble Vincente. Mr. Vincente to you."

The deputy gawked at Noble for a moment, immediately recognizing the name. He hooked his hands about his waist because his trousers were
beginning to slip down his slender hips again. His
tone was surly when he spoke. "You're one of the
Vincentes that own Casa del Sol. I've heard of
you didn't know you'd come home, though." His
eyes gleamed like polished copper. "I've just been
here for seven months, but I recall hearing talk
that you was suspected of killing a man some
years back."

Noble stood, towering over the man. "Be
warned, Deputy, that I've had a bad morning, and
I don't intend to waste time on an imbecil."

Harvey looked blank. "I don't speak Mexican.
What's that im Uh, whatever you said?"

Noble decided that there was some doubt that
the deputy spoke English. "Let's just say the term
means less than brilliant."

Harvey's face colored with indignation. "You
can't say that to me! Just who do you think you
are?"

Noble took a step forward, and the deputy took
a step back. "Is Crenshaw still the sheriff?"

Harvey saw danger in Noble Vincente's swirling
dark eyes. He swallowed several times before he
said, "Y-yep. But he's getting on in years. I `spect
I'll be the sheriff soon enough."

"God help us if that happens," Noble murmured
under his breath. "Tell Sheriff Crenshaw that I
stopped by and I'd like to see him at his convenience."

Harvey followed Noble outside, watching him cross the street and mount his horse. Jess McVee
joined Harvey and they stood silently watching
Noble disappear in the distance.

"He won't find any friends in this town," Jess
stated flatly. "Sam Rutledge was well respected
'round here, and there are those of us who still
think Noble Vincente back-shot him. Did it, and
got away with it."

"I didn't know Mr. Rutledge, but I surely like
that pretty daughter of his. I'm kinda sweet on Rachel Rutledge, but I ain't told her yet. It's not right
that some rich bastard got away with killing her
pa.

Jess glanced at the deputy in astonishment. Did
the man really think that Rachel would be interested in the likes of him? He grinned, trying not
to laugh. "Rachel would probably look kindly on
the man who puts her pa's killer away." He was
baiting Harvey, whom he'd never credited with
having much gumption. "'Course, Sheriff Crenshaw never believed that Noble killed Sam. At the
time, he said there wasn't enough evidence to take
to court. The circuit judge agreed with him. I figure if you'd been sheriff at the time, things woulda
been different." He continued to bolster the deputy's ego while planting numerous seeds of ideas,
wondering if they'd take root inside Harvey's simple mind. "I always wondered how much Don
Reinaldo paid the judge to get him to let his son
go free."

Harvey felt a stirring of excitement as he thought what it would mean to his standing in the
county if he got rid of that Spanish bastard.
"There's other ways to give justice a little push."
Cunning brightened his eyes. "Sometimes you just
have to step outside the law."

The heat beat down with punishing force as Noble
rode toward home. He clenched his jaw, still angered by what had happened in town. He should
have been prepared for the hostile attitudes today but he hadn't been. Damn them all! Why
should it matter what they thought of him?

But strangely enough, it did.

He detoured around the main gate to Casa del
Sol and guided his horse toward the river. When
he got there, he dismounted and walked to the
water's edge, staring into the muddy depths. He'd
always loved the Brazos, which snaked its way
through hundreds of miles of Texas. It was here,
beneath this very cottonwood tree, that he had
fished many times with his father, here that he'd
learned to swim and dive off the high banks. But
boyhood memories brought no comfort to him today; they were part of a past that was dead and
gone.

"It's been a hell of a day," he observed aloud. He
picked up a stone and skipped it across the water,
watching it sink into the murky depths. "And
worst yet, I'm beginning to talk to myself."