Texas Proud (Vincente 2) (6 page)

By now, they had reached the well. Noble took
the dipper and scooped it into a bucket, handing
it graciously to her. She shook her head, still
dazed by his compliment. He had called her beautiful. Was she? She'd never thought of herself in
that way not until today. Suddenly she wanted
very badly to be beautiful, and to be older, because
Noble still thought of her as a child.

He raised the dipper to his lips and she watched,
fascinated, as several drops trickled down his chin
to disappear in the dark mat of hair on his chest,
just visible below his unbuttoned shirt. A flash of
warmth spread throughout her body, and she
found herself wanting to slide her hand over the
same path the water had taken. She remembered
the arranged marriage between Noble and a
woman in Spain, and she felt as if the point of an
invisible knife was buried deep in her heart.

Why had her feelings for Noble taken such a
sudden change? She'd always thought of him as a
godlike person who teased her and made her
laugh. Now she was no better than all the other
simpering women she had scorned for idolizing
Noble to the point of making fools of themselves.
Today she had found his conversation tantalizing, and his nearness unsettling. Seeking comfort, she
gazed at her father, who was still deep in conversation with Noble's father.

"Sure you don't want a drink, Green Eyes?" Noble asked. "It's a hot day."

"I Yes, please."

He thrust the dipper into the bucket and handed
it to her, his hand brushing hers and sending her
foolish heart soaring again. Her hands trembled
when she lifted the dipper to her lips, and she
drank quickly, dropping the dipper back into the
bucket so there would be no chance of touching
him again.

"What will you do with the mare?" she asked,
trying to swing her thoughts to the horse and
away from Noble.

"Faro is a horse for a lady."

"Faro?"

"Yes, that is her name." Noble gave Rachel a
slow smile that wrenched her heart. "The lady
who rides Faro must have spirit to match the
mare's. Perhaps I shall give her to you, Green
Eyes. Yes, I think she should belong to you."

He started walking toward their fathers, and she
had to run to catch him. She'd never wanted anything as much as she wanted that mare. "No no,
Papa would never allow me to accept such a gift
from you."

His expression grew suddenly serious as he
slowed his long strides to match hers. "The horse
is mine to give or keep as I choose."

Rachel stood beside her father now, needing his
strength to calm her erratic heartbeat.

"Mr. Rutledge," Noble said with his eyes on Rachel, "I have just made a gift of a horse to your
daughter, yet she says you will not allow her to
accept it. I hope to change your mind."

Sam Rutledge looked startled for a moment
while Noble's father only laughed. "Do you speak
of the mare from Spain?"

"Si, that is the one, Father."

"Then you should accept her, Senorita Rachel,"
Don Reinaldo urged jovially. His spoke with a
slight Spanish accent, but Noble and Saber had
no accent at all. "We had her shipped over for my
daughter, but Saber prefers a smaller, more docile
mount. The mare should go to someone who
knows and appreciates good horseflesh."

"I'll buy the horse from you," Sam offered. "It's
not my habit to be beholden to any man. How
much for the mare, Noble?"

Rachel lowered her head so her father wouldn't
see how badly she wanted the mare. He could ill
afford such a magnificent animal, and they both
knew it.

"It is easy to see where your daughter gets her
perseverance," Noble said, half serious, half joking. "The mare is not for sale. She is my gift to
Green Eyes. And there is no owing between
friends."

For a long moment the two men stood eye-toeye until Sam lowered his gaze. "I'm sure my daughter will take good care of the mare. But I
still say it's too generous. The horse is a thoroughbred."

Noble's voice grew soft. "As is your daughter."

Rachel squinted against the sun, the memories
fading. That day had been her last day as a carefree, innocent girl. Every moment after that, she'd
thought of Noble with a powerful longing that
only a young girl could feel for her first love.

Yes, she had loved him then, as much as she
hated him now.

Rachel glanced at the great hacienda of Casa del
Sol. She hadn't been there since her father had
been murdered, and she didn't know why she had
come today.

She halted her mount and patted the mare's
sleek black neck. Even though Noble had given
her this mare, and she now despised him, she
couldn't bring herself to part with Faro.

Rachel heard footsteps, and she watched as Noble emerged from the trees and walked past the
corrals. She knew instinctively that he was going
to pay his respects to his dead father.

She dismounted and moved forward, taking
care to stay hidden from his view. From her vantage point behind a cedar bush, Rachel watched Noble kneel beside Don Reinaldo Vincente's
grave. She could plainly see the pain on his face.
She knew what he was feeling, because she'd suffered the same loss with her father's death. She
wished she could find satisfaction in Noble's grief,
but she could not. Even a cowardly murderer was
allowed to mourn the death of his father. She was
amazed to feel tears hovering just behind her eyes,
burning and stinging. She blinked her eyes to keep
from crying. Not one tear would she shed for Noble Vincente. He deserved everything he got and
more.

Noble removed his hat and bowed his head as
grief tore at his heart like thorns from a thistle.
He wanted absolution from the torment within
his soul. His chest tightened with a familiar pain.
He should have been with his father to comfort
him in his last hours. The knowledge that his absence had probably hastened his father's death
was added to the guilt that he already carried
within him.

His gaze moved sadly to his mother's grave,
which was choked with weeds. On the other side
of her was the grave of an infant brother who had
died at birth, and other Vincentes who'd been
born and died on this land. Loneliness pressed in
on him like a physical pain. The prayer he wanted
to utter was locked in his heart and he could not
give it voice.

Noble's head came up when he heard a twig snap. In a quick, fluid motion he rose to his feet,
turned in the direction of the noise and drew his
gun. "Come out slowly," he said, aiming at the cedar bushes to his left. "Do it now!"

Rachel stepped forward, her head high, her
gaze meeting his haughtily.

"Who are you?" He holstered his gun, as if he
had nothing to fear from a woman. "Do I know you?"

It disturbed Rachel that Noble did not recognize
her when she had thought of him every day since
he'd gone away. She took several steps closer to
him before she spoke.

"I never knew you, Noble Vincente, although I
once thought I did."

A flicker of recognition flashed through him,
and he could hardly believe his eyes. Although
there were differences, he should have known her
immediately. Her hair was now a richer red-gold,
and she was taller. A slight frown furrowed his
brow. "So it is you, Green Eyes. All grown up and
still wearing trousers."

Despite the fact that she was trembling all over,
she faced him with courage. Stepping onto the
overgrown path, she planted her booted feet wide
apart. "I'm no longer the child you once knew. You
stole my childhood. Why did you come back to
Texas when you're not welcome here?"

His gaze touched on her flaming hair before
moving to the blouse that was stretched taut
across the gentle swell of her young breasts. Her waist was tiny and her hips softly curved and tantalizingly outlined by her trousers. There was little
evidence of the young girl he'd once adored and
teased. The woman standing before him was
beautiful and cold, and naked hatred burned in
her eyes.

"Green Eyes, there was a time when you would
have welcomed me as your friend."

"Fool that I was." Her gaze knifed into his. She
remembered when those dark eyes had danced
with laughter. Now they were dull, lusterless and
unreadable. Power radiated from him, and she
knew instinctively that he was making an effort to
keep that power under control. She did not fear
him; she merely hated him. "It seems that you are
the Don of Casa del Sol now, Noble."

"I will not be referring to myself as a don. For
me, the title died with my father. This is not the
Texas he knew, and I am not the man he was."

"I agree with you on both points. I once thought
you had the same honor that your father possessed, but you don't."

"Now you want to see me dead." This pronouncement came with little emotion.

Rachel had just looked into his soul and found
torment churning there. "Yes, I do," she admitted.
"I could have killed you the day you returned," she
continued, her voice flat and without feeling. "I
had my rifle trained on you when you drank from
Deep Creek."

He flinched as if her words had wounded him.

"Yet you didn't shoot me." He raised his hands to
show there were no bullet holes. "I'm still alive. I
wonder why?"

She moved closer to him, gathering courage. "If
you were dead, you would no longer feel, and if
you couldn't feel, you wouldn't suffer for what you
did to my father."

He stared at the tips of his shiny black boots.
"Perhaps I have suffered, Green Eyes."

"Don't call me that! Don't ever call me that
again!"

Suddenly there was unspeakable sadness in his
fathomless brown eyes as he met her gaze. "How
can you believe I killed your father? I liked and
respected Mr. Rutledge."

"You can deny it all you want. I know you murdered him. And I know why."

His gaze slid away from hers as if he could no
longer look into those cold green eyes. With effort,
he glanced at his father's grave. "And you came
here seeking satisfaction by witnessing my pain."

She bent down and pulled a weed near Don
Reinaldo's headstone, tossing it aside. "I take no
pleasure in your father's death. He was a kind and
honorable man." She stood. "These graves are
shamefully neglected. I would never allow this to
happen to my family's graves."

Noble drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I
didn't kill your father, Rachel. I don't care if no
one else believes me, but I hope that you will come
to know the truth."

She moved away from him. "I could hardly expect you to admit it, could I? You're the only one
with a reason to kill him. Everyone else liked my
father. He had no enemies, save yourself."

His tone was soft when he said, almost to himself, "Why did it have to be you?" Then his lips
thinned and his gaze slammed into hers. "Why
have you set yourself up as the instrument of my
punishment?"

"Because you are a Vincente the law wouldn't
do it, so it's left to me." Her growing courage took
her a step closer to him. "How shall I punish you,
Noble? I could have shot you - I didn't. I still
could, but I won't." She tossed her head and met
his eyes. "How shall I extract justice? You tell me."

Noble stared at her for a long moment, and she
knew he was confused. Was he looking for the little girl who had adored him? Well, she was no
longer that girl, and he would find no pity in her.
She saw the anger burning in his eyes, but she did
not realize the danger until it was too late.

He grabbed her and brought her forward until
her face was level with his. "Nothing you can do
will touch me in my hell, Rachel."

She was so near she felt the heat of his body.
Every muscle in her tightened. "No? I know what
you are feeling at this moment, Noble, because I
felt it with my father. You stand over your father's
grave, wondering if there's been some terrible
mistake-can he really be dead? You'll walk away
from the monument that was erected to his mem ory, feeling as if you've left a part of your life behind. Then you hurry to the house, feeling bereft,
thinking he'll be there, but he won't be. You will
never see him again. Death, you see, is so final,
Noble, and that will be your torment."

His fingers bit into her arms and he jerked her
against him, sweeping her forcefully into his embrace. With his free hand he lifted her chin, and
their gazes locked. "What if you are wrong?" he
asked in a raspy voice. "What if you are to be my
final torment?"

He lowered his head, seemingly preoccupied
with the shape of her mouth. As she held her
breath, his lips brushed against hers, and she went
limp in his arms. Then his mouth became hard,
punishing, and ravished her tender lips. The kiss
was not prompted by affection or even desire; it
came from anger, frustration and futility.

Rachel wanted to shove him away, but he was
drawing all the strength from her body. All she
could feel was the hardness of him, the hand that
supported her head, the mouth that ruthlessly
plundered hers. Against her will, her lips softened
beneath his and she returned his kiss. She moved
forward, pressing her body more firmly against
his, feeling almost faint with longing. She tried to
remember why she was there. Suddenly she envisioned her dead father's face and struggled to be
free.