Emmy's Equal (21 page)

Emmy jumped at the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house.

“Don’t worry,” Cuddy said. “That’s just Rosita leaving for the night.” He rubbed his hands down the front of his trousers, not the first time since his food fight given their stained condition. “I suppose I’d better get cleaned up then find a place in the bunkhouse to lay my head. Sounds like I have an early start ahead of me.”

“An early start?” She studied his profile. “Cuddy, you’re not thinking of going with Diego?”

He met her gaze. “Not thinking—my mind’s made up.” Determination burned in his eyes. “Diego doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going.”

Her heart skipped. “Then you’re worried, too?”

He shrugged. “Call it insurance. I have to keep my old man alive until I prove myself to him.” His boyish features hardened with determination. “He’s planning to go to his grave disappointed in me, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”

Melatha’s heart soared with joy at the familiar sound of Isi’s boots hitting the porch. She whispered her thanks over folded hands and turned at the counter, ready to greet him. Certain her fervor reminded God of the parable of the persistent widow in Luke’s Gospel, she also repented for wearying Him.

Isi stood on the threshold, his hat in his hands, as if hesitant to press on without an invitation.

His contrite manner pierced her heart. She smiled sweetly and motioned him in. “Good evening, son. Are you hungry?”

He ducked his chin, but his eyes burned into hers. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pot of mole poblano, would you? I’ve developed a sudden urge for some.”

Already turning to lift the lid on her kettle, she paused. “Mole? No mole, son. Only—” She was hesitant to admit what she had to offer him instead—pounded corn boiled with beans, a traditional food of the Choctaw.

He dropped his hat on the hook and approached the table. “Is that Tafula I smell? Even better.”

Sighing with relief, she ladled a large bowlful and set it in front of him. Isi blew on a bite then took a taste from the end of the spoon. He nodded vigorously. “Very good, as usual.”

Melatha’s joyful heart swelling like the breast of a dove, she grinned at him. “You say the same every time. I find myself starting to doubt you.”

Her chest deflated in a rush of shame when he halted mid-bite and laid down the spoon. She hurried to him, enveloping him with her arms from behind. “Stop it now, Isi. I will never really doubt you.” She gave him a shake. “You know this.”

He reached back to wrap his arm around her neck, drawing her closer. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I promise not to disappoint you ever again.”

She laughed against his ear. “An impossible promise to keep. A mother’s expectations are unreasonable.” She swung around to kneel at his feet. “You will disappoint me many times if you’re to live your own life.” Her brown eyes bored into his. “It doesn’t mean I won’t worry, but I have to allow you to make your own mistakes, whatever the cost. I see this truth now.”

His brows crowding together, Isi took hold of her arms. “Wait a second while I catch my balance.”

“Your balance?”

“Yes, Mother.” His eyes darted to the floor. “It seems the ground has shifted beneath my feet. Did I just hear Melatha Marcelo telling her son to live his own life? What happened to bring about this change?”

She lowered her gaze. “The old teacher is still teachable, I suppose.”

He placed his big hand on her head then let it slide until he held her cheek. “You show me such respect after I’ve ruined both our lives?”

She pressed his palm to her face and shook her head. “But you haven’t ruined our lives.”

His eyes bulged. “When John Rawson finds out—”

She patted his roughened hand and stood to her feet. “He cannot find out, which brings me to the one mistake I can’t allow you to make.” She slipped into the chair opposite him and passed him his spoon. “Eat your supper, son, while I tell you about a very important visitor I had today.”

Magda awoke groggy and stiff. Her joints were sore and her patience at its limits. She groped for Willem’s face to pinch his nose, determined to stifle his infernal snoring.

Her searching hand came up empty. Startled, she turned over in her bedroll.

Willem sat on a log near the campfire talking to John and Bertha. The real culprits responsible for the relentless bellows and moans that had invaded her sleep meandered nearby grazing.

Magda had marveled at how fast Benito, the lead vaquero, had constructed several lean-tos of forked sticks, ridgepoles, and cowhides. As long as Willem stretched out next to her, she’d slept beneath their shelter warm and comfortable. Only after he’d slipped away did the chill of the bare ground seep into her bones.

She wondered how Bertha had managed, sleeping in her bedding alone, and suspected it was the reason her bony friend huddled near the campfire with a cup of coffee in her hand.

Benito and Juan, the
segundo,
which meant second-in-command according to John, appeared from the rear of the wagon bearing an iron skillet and other supplies to make breakfast. John and Willem scooted aside to make a place for them near the fire.

“You cook, too?” John asked. “I didn’t know that was a part of our bargain.”

“Sí, señor,” the slightly weathered Juan said, smiling. “For many years, I ran the chuck wagon for un rancho
grande.
” He smiled toward Willem. “A very big ranch.”

John gave him a broad smile. “Fine, fine. You’ll be an asset to this trip.” He frowned toward Benito. “Where are the other two fellows?”

Carl cut around behind them. “I’m here, Mr. Rawson.” He squatted on the ground near the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “Wayne will be along directly.” He grinned. “His covers don’t want to turn him loose this morning.”

Accepting a refill from the boy, John frowned. “That won’t do if we hope to get this livestock moving. I need you two to prowl the herd before we take them down to the river.”

Benito stood and trotted out of sight, presumably to roust Wayne.

Bertha, her timing unfortunate as usual, peered around Willem to where Magda rested her head on her propped arm, listening to the conversation. “Speaking of turning loose of your covers, when do you plan to haul yourself up?”

Groaning when all eyes turned her way, Magda sank lower in the bedroll.

“There’s fresh coffee here, sugar. And this nice Juan has camp bread and eggs in the skillet.”

As nonchalantly as possible with six pairs of eyes glued to her, Magda unraveled herself from the lean-to and ambled to the fire. Beaming up at her, Bertha moved over and patted a spot on the log. “Morning, sunshine. It’s been right tough going without you to light our way.”

Magda nudged her. “I’m happy to see you in such good spirits. I think.”

A bedraggled Wayne staggered toward them. His puffy eyes, slack mouth, and rumpled hair made him look as if he’d tied on a drunk the night before. He attempted to squat next to his brother, but lost his balance and fell on his backside instead. Rubbing crusted matter from his bloodshot eyes, he elbowed Carl and pointed at the pot. “I hope you saved me plenty of that muddy water. I need it something fierce this morning.”

Benito signaled to Carl, who stood reluctantly. “Let Wayne find his own coffee. You and I will ride the herd then take them to drink.”

Carl’s face pulled into a frown. “But I ain’t had me no breakfast yet.”

Already headed for his horse, Benito didn’t bother to answer. Wayne chuckled. “Don’t worry, Carl. I’ll eat yours for you.”

Juan glanced up from his task. “There will be plenty, young man. You may eat when you return.”

Carl stomped away like a pouting boy.

John, his jaw working, regarded Wayne. “If you want meals from now on, I expect you to show up groomed and on time. If not, you can find your way back to Eagle Pass. Understood?”

Sullen at first, Wayne put on a false brightness and saluted John, a guarded challenge in his eyes. “Yes, sir, boss.” Snickering, he grabbed the plate Juan was handing to Bertha and sat back to dig in.

Bertha and Magda shared a look of disgust.

Maybe for the first time in her life, Magda was relieved to see a meal end. As delicious as the unexpected breakfast turned out to be, Wayne’s presence spoiled her appetite. She didn’t relax until they’d broken up camp and were on their way, with the coarse Wayne riding out in front of the herd and far away from the wagon.

“He’s no good,” Bertha announced beside her, reading her mind.

“We can’t say John didn’t warn us.” She patted Bertha’s hand. “Don’t worry. The men can handle him. Soon we’ll be well shed of him.”

Bertha didn’t look convinced. “I wish John
would
send him back to Eagle Pass. He’s trouble. I can smell it.”

Magda laughed. “Maybe you caught the scent of his unwashed body. My gut says he’s not one for practicing good hygiene.”

Bertha whipped her head around. “No fooling, Magda. I’m having one of my feelings.”

“Oh, Bertha...”

“Don’t make fun. I told you they’re from God.”

Magda crossed her arms. “All right, then. What would God have you to do about Wayne?”

Bertha shrugged. “We didn’t get that far.”

The sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to be seen, just enough to lighten the eastern sky to a watery gray. A pale, fading moon hung low over the horizon, and a few of the brightest stars were still visible.

Despite the lack of piercing rays, sweat already pooled on Diego’s top lip, meaning the day would be a scorcher.

He spotted the rider tailing him before he’d gone a quarter mile from the house. Little Pete had no reason to be following him so slyly, nor did any other man on the Twisted-R spread—except for Cuddy.

Making a mental note to teach him the art of stealthy tracking, Diego turned his horse and ambled toward him.

Cuddy must have realized Diego spotted him because he picked up his pace and met him halfway.

Diego circled and fell in beside him. “Good morning. Going my way?”

Cuddy crossed his hands over the saddle horn and grunted. “I see it’s true you have eyes in the back of your head. Has anyone ever slipped up on you?”

“Greta.” Wishing he hadn’t brought her up, Diego cut his eyes to the ground. Would it ever seem natural to speak of her again? “Twice, in fact.”

“Makes sense. She has years of practice from spying on me.”

Diego had to smile. “You’ll never catch me off guard, that’s for sure. You track like a marauding grizzly.” He lifted one brow. “I don’t have to ask why you’re here, do I?”

Cuddy raised one shoulder. “Who knows? I’m not even sure myself.”

The day dawned at last, and they stared toward the sunrise in silence. Diego released the breath he’d held and looked at Cuddy, one side of his freckled face bathed in yellow light. “I wanted to talk to you about this trip before I ever spoke with your mother, but—”

“But you thought it might be bad form considering you so recently pummeled my head?” Cuddy leaned in the saddle to stress his point. “Over something I didn’t do.” His guarded eyes lifted. “Remember when we talked about Greta’s purity, and you said you didn’t believe I had to ask?”

Diego nodded grimly. “I do. I also remember you saying you wanted to believe me. That you wanted to, Cuddy—not that you did.” He jerked his chin as if Emmy stood there. “How can you compare what you did to Emmy with what happened between me and Greta? From what I saw, it wasn’t exactly the same.”

Cuddy dashed his quirt on his leg, startling the horses. “How could you see anything? It was pitch black.”

“I didn’t need to see to know Emmy wanted it to stop,” he sputtered, faltering for words. “Cuddy ... I heard her begging you.”

If Diego had slapped his face, Cuddy couldn’t have looked more startled. He pulled back on the reins, the shock in his eyes fading to dazed remembrance. “She did beg me. I remember now.” He closed his eyes. “That’s what Emily tried to tell me last night. That I scared her.”

Diego stopped his horse, too, sympathy for his troubled friend welling inside. “I know you didn’t mean to frighten her. You’d had too much to drink.”

Cuddy gnawed his bottom lip. “That’s not a good excuse, is it? Not if I hurt someone as wonderful as Emily.” He nudged his horse to move again and they picked their way across the plain in brooding silence.

Cuddy seemed deep in thought, and Diego prayed he might come to the right conclusions about his life.

They’d gone quite a way before Cuddy spoke again. “What time did we leave the ranch?”

“Around six thirty.”

“What time is it now?”

Diego studied the sky. “I’d say pushing eight thirty. At this clip, we’ll be at the Campbells’ before lunchtime.” He glanced at Cuddy. “That means they’ll clear a place at the table.”

Cuddy grinned. “I wouldn’t mind skipping lunch and going straight for Mrs. Campbell’s sweet pecan bread.”

Diego groaned. “Considering we have miles yet to go, it’s outright cruelty to mention that bread so soon.” He rubbed his stomach. “Especially since I left too early for breakfast.”

“And Melatha let you get away with that? Better check your pockets. She’s sure to have corn cakes stuffed inside.”

“That may be wishful thinking on your part,” Diego teased, but he patted them just in case.

Grateful they’d lightened the mood, Diego kept the conversation going with a joke he’d heard in the bunkhouse and telling a prank he’d played on Little Pete.

Just when he felt easy with Cuddy again, the simpleton opened his mouth. “Are you planning to tell the old man about Greta?”

Diego’s shoulders drooped. Squinting in protest of the topic, he glanced at Cuddy. “I’ve had a curious parade of people ask me not to tell, with Greta at the top of the list. I’m still trying to decide what’s right.”

Cuddy pushed back his hat, eagerness to drive home his point evident in the deep lines of his brow. “I’ll march in that parade, friend. I say don’t tell.” His anxious eyes studied Diego. “You said you were trying to make up your mind about Greta. If she turns out to be your choice, you don’t want to rile the old man.”

Diego shifted in the saddle. Time to tell the truth. “I made up my mind about Greta, Cuddy. If I marry your sister, it’ll be for all the wrong reasons. And for all the wrong people.”

Cuddy’s eyes lowered to the high grass between them. “That’s a shame. I always hoped you’d wind up a legitimate member of the family.”

Diego stared wordlessly at Cuddy, the question he wanted to ask stuck in his throat.

Cuddy smiled and looked away. “I know what you’re thinking. I guess I’m part
loco
to want you hanging about when my father prefers you to me. Shoot, to hear him talk, you’re more his son than I’ll ever be.” He shrugged. “But I’m used to having you around, brother. In fact...” He chuckled. “I think you’ll get a kick out of this. My hope that you’d marry my sister is the main reason I’ve tried so hard to steer you clear of Emily.”

Diego gawked at him. “Are you saying you don’t really care for Emily?”

“Care for her?” Cuddy wrinkled his face. “Sure, I care. I’m just not in love with her.” He tilted his head. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a real looker, but Emily’s turned out to be a friend. A good friend and I don’t want to mess it up.” He winked. “Not that I wouldn’t kiss her if she gave me the chance.”

Finding not a speck of humor in Cuddy’s last sentence, Diego shook his head to clear his muddled mind. Unsure what to do with the information, he fingered the rawhide riata notched in the groove at the base of his saddle horn while his heartbeat settled down.

Sobered, Cuddy cleared his throat. “The thing is, she won’t be giving me that chance because ... Actually, amigo, I’m fairly certain the only one Emily Dane wants to kiss is you.”

Diego’s head snapped around so fast his neck cracked. “Me?”

Cuddy nodded.

“But you must be mistaken.”

Finding it impossible to think straight, Diego opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Cuddy’s gaze flickered and he waved a greeting. “Eyes front. We got company.”

Diego glanced up, relieved to see that friendly faces had gotten the jump on them and not strangers. Lester and Joe Campbell rode toward them at an easy canter.

Lester raised his hand to the sky as they approached. “Diego! Cuddy Rawson! What brings you out this way?”

Diego and Cuddy closed the distance between them, reining in a few feet from the beaming brothers. Relieved to see them smiling, Diego knew it foretold good news about Mr. Rawson and his guests. “We’ve come to bust up the party,” he said, already dreading the exasperated look on his boss’s face. He’d have to dream up a good excuse for butting into his good time and hauling him back to his waiting wife. “Where are you two headed?”

“Actually, we were on our way to the Twisted-R,” Lester said. “Little brother here’s been riding me real hard to drop everything and go see the ranch. We thought today was a good day.” He chuckled and scratched his head. “Don’t tell me you’re headed for our place. That’d be a downright silly coincidence.”

The slight crowding of Joe’s eyebrows to the center of his forehead was Diego’s first clue that things were not as they seemed. “Did you mention a party?” He looked offended. “If there’s a party, someone left us off the guest list.”

Diego smiled, trying to ignore the tension building in his stomach. “Not an official party, Joe. I’m referring to whatever shenanigans have kept Mr. Rawson and his guests at your place for the last few days.”

The furrows in Joe’s forehead deepened, matched by those in Lester’s. Joe shook his head. “Ain’t nobody staying at our house.”

Cuddy sat forward in his saddle.

Diego swallowed against the growing knot in his throat. “When did they leave?”

Confusion clouded Lester’s eyes. “There’s been some sort of misunderstanding, friend. We haven’t seen them.”

Joe tilted his head. “I told my pa you thought your boss would stop by, but he never showed. We figured it for a mix-up.”

Cuddy fired Diego a panicked look.

Diego’s every muscle tingled with an urgency to spur his horse and ride. But where? Where did one look for a vanished wagon filled with people?