Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (26 page)

Forgiveness was harder to give than love. A person could choose to forgive, but love was thrust
upon one.

She was not sorry about what had happened between her and Noble. She would take the memory
of this night with her into an uncertain future. She
would never allow him to touch her again, but she
would always have her memories.

Noble had asked her to trust him. But if she did,
she would have to assume that her sister had lied
to their father-a lie that had caused his death.
That thought was too painful to contemplate.

One of them was not being truthful. No matter
which one had deceived her, the truth would
break her heart.

Rachel gazed up into the robin's-egg-blue sky,
hoping to see rain clouds, but there were none
looming on the horizon. She removed her leather gloves and tucked them into her belt. Then she
undid the top button of her blouse and rolled up
the sleeves. It was unusually hot for October.

She halted her cutting horse, pushed her hat to
the back of her head and observed the cattle being
run into the corral, branded, and herded out the
other side. Today would be the final tally, and fear
gripped her heart when she saw that there were
so few.

Tanner rode up beside her, keeping a keen eye
on his men. "We got one hundred forty head, Miss
Rachel."

She felt his revelation like a crushing blow. "We
lost too many to the drought. I'm going to have to
sell off all the rest, Tanner." She unhooked her
canteen and took a drink of water and then
splashed some on her face. "There isn't enough
grass to feed them all, and Zeb tells me he hasn't
seen the river this low in thirty years."

"They won't bring more than three dollars a
head." Tanner watched her face as he spoke. "Of
course, the Yankee army's giving four dollars a
head."

Rachel raised her head to a stubborn tilt. "I'd
rather take a loss than sell to a Yankee." Her gaze
was wistful as she glanced toward the men doing
the branding. "If only we had a large enough herd
to drive them to Kansas City. They're giving forty
dollars a head there."

"It's too dry, Miss Rachel; the cattle would never make it. And with such a small herd, it wouldn't
be worth it."

"I know." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to draw courage for what she must do. "All
right, sell to the Yankees."

He nodded. "I know it goes against your beliefs,
but there's nothing else to do, ma'am."

"How many cowhands do we have, Tanner?"

"Seventeen, if you don't count Zeb and me."

"I'm going to have to let at least ten of them go."
There was pain in her eyes. "I don't like it, but I
can't pay them, Tanner."

"You could ask them to take less money,
ma'am."

"That wouldn't be fair to any of them. The thirty
dollars a month they get now is little enough to
live on."

"It's my job to tell them, Miss Rachel."

She nodded, knowing he was better able to
judge which men they should keep. "Don't lay off
the hands with families to support."

He nodded, knowing how difficult it was for her
to lay off loyal cowhands. "I'll handle it. They understand that times are hard."

She watched the last longhorn being branded,
her mind on the men she must let go. Of course
two or three of them were the usual drifters who
only worked during roundups and then moved on
afterward-she wouldn't worry about them. But
the loyal hands that had been at the Broken Spur in her father's time were another matter. It hurt
like hell to send them away.

She pointed her horse in the direction of the
river. When she reached the Brazos, she stared at
the dry riverbed without seeing it. Her shoulders
slumped and she laid her head against the neck of
her horse, allowing the tears she'd been holding
back to fall. Her body shook as she cried silently.
She cried for the men who had to leave the Broken
Spur, she cried for Delia, and she cried because
she wanted so badly to see Noble.

The real fear at the back of her mind was that
she would lose the Broken Spur. Her most immediate problem was her taxes. Many of her
neighbors blamed the Yankees for inflated taxes,
claiming it was the North's way of punishing
Texas for its part in the war. Already two ranchers
in Madragon County had lost their spreads.

Who would be next? Rachel wondered sadly.
She could see her way of life disappearing. Her
gaze swept across this land she loved.

Texans had withstood much worse: Santa Ana,
Goliad, the battle of the Alamo, and the strife of
civil war. This enslavement by the Yankees they
would withstand as well.

Thin, tattered clouds hung suspended between
earth and sky empty clouds that would soon disappear into nothingness without dropping moisture to heal the tortured land.

Zeb watched Rachel dismount and walk in the
direction of the house, her face furrowed with
worry. He handed the reins of her horse to Joe, a
tow-headed, freckled ten-year-old who was one of
the cowhands' youngest sons. Something was
wrong with Rachel. He rushed to catch up with
her before her first foot hit the bottom porch step.

"Weather's turned colder, Miss Rachel," he said,
sidling up to her and jamming his hands in his
pockets. "I think we're gonna have us a cold winter
this year."

"You're always right about the weather, Zeb."
Rachel paused, knowing he wanted to talk about
a subject she wanted to avoid. She tensed visibly.
"Did Tanner pay off the men who are leaving?"

"He did. While you were gone. At least kinda."

"What do you mean?"

"Not all of em left."

Rachel lowered her head. "I must seem like such
a coward because I couldn't face them myself and
tell them the bad news. Dammit, Zeb, I'd rather
cut off my arm than let anyone go."

"They know that. `Sides, it ain't your duty to hire
and fire. That's why you have a foreman."

"I should have at least-"

Zeb must have guessed that she was eaten up
with guilt, so he cut in, leading their conversation
in a different direction. "Shorty and Deke said
they was taking themselves off to Californey. But
the others said they'll hang around here for a spell,
seeing as how they ain't got no place to go anyway." He held up his hand when she started to
interrupt him. "They know you can't pay right
now. But they're staying anyway."

She stared at her interlocked fingers, afraid that
she would cry if she looked at him. Tenuously she
controlled her emotions. "I admire their loyalty,
but I don't know if I'll ever be able to pay them."

"Did you go to the bank?"

She nodded. "Mr. Bradley can't loan me the
money. Three more ranchers were forced off their
land in the last two weeks because they couldn't pay their taxes: the Everests, Abe Fletcher and the
Masterson family." Her throat grew tight with
sadness. "They are my friends."

"Miss Rachel, something'll turn up. Why, the
way my bones been aching, I'd say it'll rain any
day now."

She smiled at him. "I trust your bones, Zeb, but
I don't think rain will help us now. There are so
many things in my life I can't control, so many
friends who need help and I can't help them I
can't even help myself. If I had one wish, it would
be that I could help Winna Mae find her family."

"They're most likely dead."

"You know about her family, Zeb?"

He gummed a plug of tobacco and studied her
briefly. "Yep."

"When did she tell you?"

"The day after she told you. Said she wanted me
to know."

Rachel was amazed but why should she be?
Winna Mae and Zeb shared a common bond: they
both had no family. And Winna Mae had known
she could trust Zeb. "I feel like I'm caught in an
old dream that I had as a little girl. My legs were
buried in molasses and something dangerous was
chasing me. Although I tried to run, I could hardly
move, and I couldn't get away."

"It fair breaks my heart to see you go through
this alone." Zeb stepped closer to her. "I've put a
right goodly sum of money in the bank, and I'd
like to give it to you to pay the taxes." His eyes were as shiny as those of a child offering a piece
of hard candy to a friend. "I ain't got no use for
money."

She reached out and kissed his rough cheek,
drawing a bright smile from him. "Thank you,
Zeb. I never had a kinder offer, but I'm afraid you
don't have that much money. The taxes on Broken
Spur are twelve hundred dollars-Yankee dollars,
at that."

He whistled through his two remaining front
teeth. "That high?"

"I don't understand it. It's unreasonable. When
I spoke to the tax assessor, he said the matter was
out of his hands. The taxes have to be paid by the
end of the month."

Zeb scratched behind his ear as he did some
quick calculating. "Seventeen days."

Her shoulders drooped. "Exactly." She tried to
concentrate on the lacy pattern cast against the
house by the sun shining though the rose trellis.
She drew in a steadying breath. "I don't know
what I am going to do, Zeb. I'm going to lose the
Broken Spur." She hung her head. "Who will tend
Papa's and Mama's graves when I leave?"

The old cowhand watched Rachel enter the
house, wishing he could do something to help her.
She couldn't raise the taxes in seventeen days, or
even seventeen months. It was more money than
anyone had, except... except Noble Vincente.
But Rachel would be mad as hell if he took her troubles to Noble. He ambled back to the barn,
his mind worried and his steps slow.

Rachel removed her hat and hung it on the rack;
her gloves she absently dropped on the settee.
"Winna Mae, I'm home," she called.

The housekeeper appeared, her footsteps silent.
"You didn't get the money, did you?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Are you hungry?"

Again Rachel shook her head.

"You had a caller today. It was the strangest
thing."

"Who?" Rachel asked with little interest.

"Harvey Briscal. That man who was the deputy
in Tascosa Springs."

Rachel looked dumbfounded. "I detest that
man. Why would he come to see me?"

"He never said. I told him you were in town and
he said he'd wait anyway, and that he needed to
speak to you. I showed him into the parlor and
left because I had to hang the laundry. When I
came in the house later, he was gone."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I guess it couldn't have
been too important." She slowly climbed the
stairs. "I'm going to wash some of the dust off. I'll
be down directly."

When Rachel reached the top of the stairs, she
noticed that her bedroom door was closed, and
she thought that was strange. When the weather
was hot, she always left the door open to circulate the air. Shrugging, she entered her room and removed her dusty clothing. After washing her face
and hands, she changed into a print gown. She sat
on the bed to slip into her shoes, wishing she
could just lie back and close her eyes, and all her
troubles would disappear.

She sank backward onto the bed, but she didn't
close her eyes. The moment her head hit the pillow, she heard an ominous sound that could not
possibly be mistaken for anything but what it
was - a rattlesnake and it was on her bed!

Cold dread rushed through her veins, and she
slowly turned her head to stare into glasslike eyes
that gave the illusion of glazed yellow porcelain.
The unmistakable markings on the snake's scaly
back were diamond shaped. It was a deadly diamondback rattler, coiled and in its strike pose,
with fangs bared. With her knowledge of snakes,
Rachel knew that the rattler could strike lightning
quick faster than a human could move and its
bite was almost always fatal.

Heart pounding, mouth dry, Rachel waited for
death, knowing there was no escape.

She could hear the clock on the mantel ticking
from the open window she heard a horse whinny.
Time passed slowly, and she waited as if frozen in
time. But the rattler didn't strike.

She watched in horror as it performed a grotesque ritual. Its forked tongue slid out of the
small slit of its mouth, gliding in and out, actually
touching the back of her hand. Her father had once told her that rattlers smelled with their
tongues. The horrible creature was actually smelling her hand! Her stomach heaved with revulsion
and fear.

Rachel was never to know how she got from her
bed to the window so quickly, or why the snake
didn't strike her. On the verge of hysteria, she
leaned out the window, calling over and over for
someone to help her.

Moments later Zeb, Winna Mae and Tanner
come bounding into her room. She clung to the
windowsill, her gaze riveted on the loathsome reptile that was still coiled on her bed.

Rachel closed her eyes when Tanner stepped between her and the rattler. She heard his gun fire
once, twice. She refused to look at her bed to see
if he'd hit the target; he never missed his aim.