Emmy's Equal (15 page)

Mr. Rawson stood on the front porch talking to his wife, one hand patting the side of her face. He tenderly kissed her then strode down the steps to the rig. Spotting Cuddy and Diego, his face blanched. By the time they reached him, his cheeks had mottled to various shades of red.

“Where the devil have you been?” He directed the question at Diego.

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no excuse. I should’ve been here like you asked.”

His boss glowered. “You got that right. I needed you.”

Diego cringed. This was more than bad luck. His life was falling apart. “If it’s not too late, sir, I’m at your disposal. What can I do to help?”

Something over Diego’s shoulder caught Mr. Rawson’s eye. “It was too late an hour ago. Little Pete tended your business for you.” He tilted his chin. “And here they come now.”

Unprepared for what he would see, Diego looked behind him. His heart surged and he spun around. “Faron, sir?”

Mr. Rawson pushed past him. “Yes, Faron.”

His heartbeat racing now, Diego ran after him. “Why is he saddled?” He knew his tone was harsh, demanding, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m going to ride him, that’s why.”

Faron stood proudly pawing the ground and snorting his displeasure with the delay. Ready to run, he strained at the reins.

Muscles rippled in Little Pete’s arms and back as he tried to hold him, and relief flooded his face when Mr. Rawson took over. “He is one spirited animal, this horse,” Pete said, laughing and shaking his head.

“That’s how I like them, Pete,” Mr. Rawson boomed.

Pete grinned. “Sí, señor.” Looking guilty, he stepped aside when Diego approached. Aside from feeding and brushing, Diego had instructed the men never to handle Faron.

“Mr. Rawson, wait. I don’t understand. You’re not taking him to Catarina?”

“No, son.” He swung into the saddle and tapped the horse with his heels. “Weren’t you listening? I’m riding him to Catarina.”

Speechless for the second time in one morning, Diego stared after them.

Mr. Rawson turned Faron a few yards out and impaled Diego with a glare. “See to it you take running this place a little more seriously while I’m gone. Understood?”

Diego found his voice. “Sir, Faron’s not ready for what you’re asking of him.”

Mr. Rawson defiantly raised his chin. “Well, I believe he is. What say you leave my animal to me and just tend my ranch like I asked?”

Diego’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.”

Before riding away, Mr. Rawson pinned him with one more scowl. “When I get back, I intend to find out who made my little girl cry. You’d best hope it wasn’t you.”

He nudged Faron and trotted over to the wagon. Bolting into the lead, he signaled over his head for Mr. Dane to follow. The wagon rolled away from the house and down the drive, creaking under the weight of the supplies. The way Faron cantered and hopped, desire blazed within him to cut loose and run.

Sighing, Diego wondered how long Mr. Rawson could hold back the horse’s fire. The thought stirred a memory of something his mother had said to him. Was it only days ago?

“Your future will appear in a whirlwind of smoke and rise to meet you in flames....”

A flash of movement above his head drew his attention to the upstairs windows. At the same time the drape fluttered shut in Greta’s room, the shutter snapped closed in Emmy’s. It seemed the future his mother predicted had arrived. A whirlwind of guilt for what he’d done to Greta swept through him, while searing flames of desire for Emmy drove him from the yard.

A piercing wail split the air, jolting Emmy upright and raising the hair on her arms. She first thought she’d heard the bellow of a wounded animal—perhaps one of the coyotes that howled the first night on the ranch—until the cry came again, eerily human and unquestionably from the bedroom below. Greta’s room.

Emmy knelt on all fours and pressed her ear to the floor. Just as she thought, Greta’s mournful sobs rattled the floorboards, rocking Emmy back on her heels. She hugged herself, aching inside for Greta. Naturally, the girl would be upset. Diego had kissed her but whispered Emmy’s name against her lips.

This fact hadn’t penetrated Emmy’s understanding until she’d run halfway back to the house. When awareness dawned, it stopped her cold. Ready to retrace her steps and demand an explanation of Diego, she’d made her way to her room instead, her head reeling. After pondering the enormity of the situation, she’d decided Diego calling her name was a good thing, but Greta’s pain doused the torch of joy the realization had kindled.

Still crouched in front of the vanity, she lifted her eyes to the looking glass, her tears blurring the image. What had she been thinking to believe the old Emmy was back? That Emmy would be spinning about the room, defiantly wrapped in the Redwork quilt, dancing a victory waltz on Greta’s head. She’d be plotting her next move, finagling the best angle to use to her advantage in order to drive a wedge between Diego and Greta. She certainly wouldn’t be kneeling in front of a mirror watching her heart breaking for her rival. If she ever doubted the change God had wrought in her life, she didn’t now. The old Emmy wasn’t back.

She was dead.

“No more foolish women!” Diego shouted to the empty barn. His decision bounced among the overhead rafters, the echoing agreement a confirmation.

“Tend my ranch,” Mr. Rawson had growled.

The order was exactly the medicine Diego needed in a double dose. Spine-busting labor was the only thing he’d ever known. He’d focus on hard work and horses now, the two things that had been his salvation.

The thought of horses reminded him of Faron, and his stomach pitched, though not with the queasy lurch that came after the word salvation reminded him of his neglect of the Savior.

“Foolish mothers, too?”

His back stiffened. “Foolish mothers top the list.” Brushing past her, he hoisted the wide broom from the hook and went at Faron’s stall as if he could sweep away his troubles along with the muck. Sulking, he pushed the debris from the rear of the enclosure toward the middle, intent on ignoring his mother until she left. He realized his plan was doomed when she latched onto the handle from behind.

“I won’t leave your side until you hear me out.”

Past experience had taught Diego she meant what she said. His mouth a thin line, he eased the handle from her hands and propped it against the wall. Crossing his arms, he leaned beside it. “Very well. I’m listening.”

She peered up at him and shook her head. “No, son. You’re not listening yet.”

He frowned. “Yes, I am.”

She cautiously touched his arm. “Not with your heart, Isi.”

Shrugging away from her hand, Diego rolled his head against the rough adobe wall. “My patience is short just now, Mother. It’s been a trying day.”

She quirked her top lip. “A sad thing to hear, considering the early hour.”

“Sad?” A harsh laugh rose inside his gut and blurted from his mouth. “You can’t imagine how sad.”

He didn’t notice her move, yet suddenly she stood next to him. “What happened, Isi?”

Diego released a wavering breath. How could he tell her?
What happened, Mother? The son you’re so proud of took advantage of a dear, trusting friend. He kissed her while pretending she was someone else.

He opened his mouth two times before the words spilled out. “I shamed Greta Rawson, Mother. Shamed Greta, her family, and myself.” He set his jaw in a grim line. “After you warned me not to.”

Fear snuffed the compassion in her eyes. “What are you telling me, son?” She gripped his arms with her long fingers, surprising him with her strength. “How have you shamed her?”

“I hurt her.” The pitch of his voice rose, sounding to his ears like the whine of a woman. “I made her cry.” He ducked past his mother and out of the stall. Sitting down hard on a ragged bale of hay, he rested his forehead in his hand. “I may never forget the look in her eyes.”

His mother scurried to him and knelt at his knees. “You’re too harsh with yourself, son. Not preferring Greta, not choosing her, hasn’t shamed her. It’s kinder to tell her now so she won’t harbor false hope.”

He shuddered, shaking off her unmerited faith in his nobility. “I kissed her.”

She picked up his hand. “It’s natural you would want to kiss Greta. She’s a very pretty girl.” Was it hope he heard in her voice?

Lifting his eyes, he met hers head on. “I kissed her in a way I had no right to...” The weight of his shame dropped his head again. “And then called her by another woman’s name.”

Stewing in her silence, he waited. When nothing came, he looked to see why.

She had fallen on her behind in the dirt, lines of defeat etched on her face. She stared at the ground with hollow eyes, and the hopelessness in them added sorrow to his shame.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

She faced him. “John Rawson will hear of it.”

“He already knows, at least in part.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “What will happen now?” Her voice broke at the end, twisting flaming arrows in his heart.

“You won’t be hurt by this, I promise. I’ll plead on bended knee for Mr. Rawson to let you stay on in your jacal until I find you another home.” He reached for her hands resting on her knees. “A real house this time, not a mud-brick hut.”

Jerking her fingers free, she shot forward and grasped his chin. “For a mud hut you think I grieve?” She shook his face. “My son has scattered his principles to the wind, yet a one-room shack is my concern?”

Desperation crowded Diego’s throat. He’d never seen her so angry. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it right.”

“You foolish boy, don’t you see it yet? There’s no way to make this right. Mr. Rawson won’t let you marry Greta after you disgraced her—”

“I don’t want to marry Greta.”

“And he will never allow you to bring a wife to this ranch to flaunt in his daughter’s face.” She pushed off the ground and paced in front of him, her doe-hide shoes soundless on the earthen floor. “If John Rawson doesn’t fire you, though I suspect he will, you must leave the Twisted-R or face a lonely, childless life.”

Diego stared dumbly.

She stopped so fast she kicked up dirt and spun to point her finger. “And for what? In case that girl has robbed you of the ability to think for yourself, let me explain what this means. You lose everything. Your job, your home, your reputation, the last four years of your life ... White Hair took it all, just as I feared from the moment I first saw her.”

She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Isi! Why didn’t I see the truth? My vision was not a good omen as I thought.” She raised her tear-streaked face. “Instead it foretold your doom.”

Magda relaxed once John Rawson got Faron settled into a lively walk and reined in beside the wagon. The big horse seemed eager to run clear to Catarina, so John had struggled for some time to calm him. Faron’s high spirits didn’t seem to faze John in the least, and in fact served to energize and cheer him considerably.

Bertha squirmed beside her on the seat. “Ain’t we nearly there?”

John swiveled his head to look at Bertha. “Tired of traveling already?”

He shared a wink and a smile with Magda. She jabbed Bertha with her elbow. “This whole thing was your idea. Don’t start in complaining.”

Bertha rocked from side to side. “This seat is rough on a body, Magda. Something you’d understand if you weren’t packing twin sofa cushions on your bottom.”

Magda nudged her harder.

John chuckled merrily. “We’ve gone less than two miles, I’m afraid. That leaves about eighteen miles of bumpy road ahead.”

Bertha groaned.

He pointed with his chin. “Dig up under the bench there and you’ll find a folded blanket. Tuck it under you and it might help some.”

Straddling her legs and bending between them until she nearly toppled, Bertha rummaged, surfacing with a horsehair blanket. She held up her prize and grinned. “Why, thank you.” Leaning forward, she poked and prodded the folded cloth beneath her in a most unladylike fashion until she’d rooted out a comfortable spot. Still beaming, Bertha looked overhead. “At least we don’t have that unmerciful sun beating down. Sure was smart of you, John, to rig this special buggy.”

She referred to the fringed surrey top John had fastened to a long-bedded farm wagon. In front of the large cargo area, he’d placed a buckboard seat. The sturdy, dependable vehicle provided extra room for passengers and shade with a clear, unobstructed view—important features in the rugged terrain of South Texas.

“Look here, John. A rider.”

John jerked his head around to follow Willem’s finger.

Magda’s stomach tightened when he tensed and straightened in the saddle. She leaned to tug on Willem’s sleeve. “Is he friendly?”

Willem snorted and raised his brows at John. “That’s a woman for you. I’m supposed to know from a quarter mile away if that strange man is friendly.” He twisted to look at her. “Even if he had the information penciled on his forehead, he’s still too far out to read.”

John joined in with the laughter, but not so merrily this time. “The rule of thumb in these parts is to assume they’re unfriendly until they prove themselves otherwise.” He motioned at the rifle propped against the rail. “I’d hold that ready if I were you.”

Willem’s frivolity dried as fast as the August dew. He hoisted the Marlin .44-40 and chambered a shell, resting it in plain sight on his knee. Just in time, since the rider had come within shouting distance.

“Mornin’,” the stranger called as he approached. “No call for alarm, folks. I mean you no harm.”

“Friendly,” Bertha whispered.

“Not so fast,” Magda whispered back. “Let’s give him a minute more.”

John nudged his hat up and studied him. “Where you headed, mister?”

“Out to the Twisted-R Ranch.”

Magda opened her mouth to comment on the coincidence, but John motioned behind his back to be still. Relieved that John stopped her before she blurted what he didn’t want known, she watched to see what he had up his sleeve.

John spit then wiped his mouth. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.” The young man took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I think it’s up this road a few miles.”

John casually stroked Faron’s neck. “What business do you have out at the Twisted-R, son?”

Magda watched the stranger’s face. If he were the troublesome type, John’s meddlesome question ought to rile him some.

“I aim to see a friend there. Ranch foreman by the name of Diego Marcelo.”

John pushed back his hat. “Diego, eh?”

The boy grinned. “
El Toro,
we call him. Bullheaded at times, but a real nice fellow. He’s been keen on showing me the ranch, so I thought I’d ride out and see the place. I hear it’s an impressive spread.”

“Is that a fact?” John said casually.

“Oh, yes, sir.” More than happy to provide details, he leaned forward in the saddle. “I understand the owner’s a prince of a man. To hear Diego tell it, John Rawson’s been like a father to him.”

A mischievous glint in his eye, John cocked his head. “Well, ain’t that something? This Rawson sounds like a mighty fine man.”

Magda struggled to keep a straight face.

Bertha ducked behind Willem with both hands over her mouth.

“Yes, sir. I hear the old man runs the tightest, cleanest ranch in Dimmit County.”

John studied him for a few minutes before he spoke. “Where are you coming from?”

“We have a place out Catarina way. My father’s a breeder. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Buck Campbell?”

No longer laughing, Bertha perked up, bobbing left and right, trying to see around the horse.

John asked the question Magda knew Bertha was busting to ask. “Hasn’t your father been selling off some of his stock?”

The boy’s grin stretched wider. “We sure have.”

“Which Campbell are you, Les or Joe?”

He sat higher in the saddle. “I’m Joe. Les is my older brother.” If he beamed any brighter, he’d outshine the sun. “Well I’ll be hanged! You folks heard about us way out here?”

“I’ve heard mention,” John said. “As a matter of fact, we were just heading out to your place to take a look at what you have to offer.”

Joe’s smile died on his lips. He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if his boots were on backward. “Well, shoot. I’m glad we bumped into each other, then. I can save you a wasted trip.” He tucked his hat on his head, straightening it with both hands. “We ain’t got no more animals for sale. Got carried away and about thinned ourselves out of business.” He looked like it pained him to deliver the bad news.

John looked a mite pained himself. “That’s too bad, Joe. I think we might’ve worked a deal.”

The four of them slumped in defeat, as deflated as a flattened frog.

Bertha sighed from the depths of her belly. “I guess that’s it, then.”

Willem leaned to pat her hand. “I’m sorry, Bertha. But don’t give up yet, we’ll find you something.”

Joe Campbell cleared his throat. “Sir?”

Willem glanced up. “Yes, son?”

“If you didn’t specifically want to buy from us then maybe I can still help you out.”

Hope flickered in Bertha’s eyes. “You know where I can buy some cattle, boy?” Squinting, she pointed one finger. “Nothing ordinary, now. I’m looking for the best beef stock South Texas has to offer.”

Joe tipped his hat. “Well, that’d be ours, ma’am. But if you want to settle for second best, I’ve heard there’s a breeder down in Eagle Pass who’s selling out.”

Interest flickered on John’s face. “Everything?”

“Down to the last horn and hoof. I suspect you could get a right fair price for an excellent herd.”

His brows hovering in the vicinity of his hairline, John looked at each of them in turn. “What do you think, folks? Want to make a run for Eagle Pass?”

“Yes!” Bertha crowed.

Willem held up his hand. “Not so fast, Bertha. It’s not a light decision. This is a dangerous region to travel, and unless I’m mistaken, it’s much farther than we’d planned to go.”

John nodded. “Willem’s right. It’s forty miles from Carrizo Springs to Eagle Pass. Since we’ve come a couple of miles in the wrong direction that adds four more to the journey. I know of an old Indian trail a little west of here that will shave that off, but it might be rough going.”

Bertha scooted to the edge of her seat. “I say we do it.”

Magda drew back and stared. “What are you going on about? Weren’t you the one complaining after only two miles on the road?”

She wiggled her behind. “This makeshift cushion took care of that. Come on, Magda ... Willem. Let’s go see Eagle Pass.”

Willem sat quietly for a minute then peered at John. “How long do you think it would take?”

Rubbing his chin, John stared across the grassy plain that seemed to stretch on forever. “It won’t always be like what you see here. Some parts of the ride will be harder than others and the heat won’t help. The horses can make fifteen to twenty miles a day if we stop for rests and keep them well watered.”

Alarmed, Magda sat forward. “That means we may be sleeping outside for two nights?”

John shook his head. “Not necessarily. I know a rancher who’ll put us up tonight. He lives a little better than halfway, so if we push a bit, we can impose on his hospitality late tonight and make it to Eagle Pass by bedtime the next.” His eyes grew intent. “That’s if we leave now, so I’d suggest we make up our minds.”

Bertha stood up in the wagon. “What are we waiting for? We got nothing but money and time.”

John grimaced and glanced at Joe Campbell, who pretended not to notice. “I wouldn’t make a habit of bragging on the money part,” he whispered. “We’ll be a target for every thief from here to the Rio Grande.”

Straightening, he rode closer to Joe. “How do I find this man you speak of?”

“When you get into town, cross the bridge north of Fort Duncan. That’s Van Buren Street. Go straight ahead to Main and take a left turn to Washington.” Joe glanced at the women and a flush crept over his face. “You’ll find the Piedra Parada Saloon on the corner. Go in and ask for Raul.”

John balked. “The Piedra Parada? That’s the rowdiest place in town.”

“Yes, sir. I reckon I’d leave your womenfolk outside.”

“You can count on that. You said to ask for Raul?”

“That’s right. Look for a big man. He’s a bouncer. Tell him Buck Campbell sent you.” The blush deepened. “Buck’s my pa. Raul wouldn’t know my name. Tell him what you’re looking for. He’ll take it from there.”

John stuck out his hand. “Much obliged, Joe.”

The boy shook John’s hand. “You’re welcome, Mr.—” A curious look swept his face. “What’d you say your name was again?”

John picked up the reins. “I didn’t.”

“Sir?”

Twisting in the saddle, John jabbed behind them with his thumb. “You’ll find the Twisted-R down this road a piece. You can’t miss it.” He smiled. “It’s the tightest, cleanest ranch in Dimmit County.”

Waving Willem on, John rode out ahead, leaving young Joe scratching his head.

Magda stared after him with a grin on her face. “After you knew you could trust him, why didn’t you tell him who you were?”

John trotted Faron up beside her. “I figured once he’d said such nice things there was no reason he should learn the truth about me.”

She laughed. “Imagine his surprise the next time he rides out to the ranch and Diego introduces him to John Rawson.”

Willem interrupted their fun. “Where are we headed, John? I noticed we’ve taken a westerly turn. Why aren’t we headed back the way we came?”

“Because of the shortcut I mentioned.” He pointed. “The trailhead is right up this way.”

Bertha gave Magda an impish glance. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Magda touched her chest. “Me? What for?”

“For making fun of me in the mercantile store. Turns out the good Lord had a plan for me buying all those extra goods. He used me to watch out for us.” She nudged Magda with her shoulder. “Now then, ain’t you?”

“Ain’t I what?”

“Ashamed.”

“Maybe.” Magda offered a petulant lift of one shoulder. “I’ll decide once I see how much food you packed in those bundles.”

Bertha cackled, drawing the amused attention of the men.

Magda waved. “Don’t mind her. She’s addlepated.”

They rode toward an area of thick brush that seemed the end of the line.

Jumping off Faron, John tied him up then walked along the tangle of bushes and vines until he came to the densest part. Reaching carefully into the center of a laid-over tree, he caught hold of the thicker branches and pushed. It opened the way into a less brushy area that was hidden just seconds before. “Pull by me, Willem. Then you can help me bring Faron.”

The two-horse team was reluctant at first, but with a bit of coaxing, they rushed past the overgrowth into a clearing. Willem climbed down and ran to take John’s place, leaning his weight into the tree. John leaped on Faron and trotted him through with no trouble.

Ten feet away, the clearing narrowed into the trail John had promised, weaving through the heavy vegetation in front of them like the road to the Promised Land—with thorns.

Dismounting, John took a bucket from the wagon’s rear boot. He pulled a plug from the bottom of a wooden drum and water streamed into the pail. Placing it on the ground for Faron, he glanced over his shoulder. “Help me water the horses, Willem. We’ll rest them a few minutes since we’re about to drive them hard.”

He nodded at the team. “Be sure to watch them for any signs of stress. We’ll aim to cool them down at regular intervals, but I think they’ll be all right.”

After they’d tended the animals, they ate a quick bite themselves then struck out. The scenery varied little, so they found other ways to entertain themselves along the way, playing silly games with words and matching wits.

As the temperature rose, the amusements lost most of their charm. The morning had dawned cloudy, making the day feel deceptively cool. Now the clouds had burned off, and beads of moisture persisted on Magda’s top lip no matter how many times she swiped it away. As for Bertha, she had loosed her garments to a point that bordered on indecent.

The trip became a blur of blazing heat, sticky clothes, and the monotonous creak of wagon wheels. When it seemed they’d steeped in their juices long past done, the sun fell into the western sky and disappeared behind the trees. Birds swooped down with a flutter of wings to roost among the branches. Coyotes yipped and howled in the distance. Miraculously, Willem dozed, his head bobbing like his spine had worked loose.

Ahead of them, John reined in Faron and raised his hand.

Magda poked Willem in the ribs. “Wake up. He wants us to stop.”

Willem fumbled for the leads and drew the horses to a halt. Coming alongside them, John took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a folded white hankie he took from his breast pocket. “I know how tired you are, folks. Believe it or not, I think we’re almost there.”