Texas Proud (Vincente 2) by Constance O'Banyon

it in the pillow,
beginning to tremble. Her body was weak, but her
thoughts were strong. She remembered the feel of
his hard male body against hers. His hands touching, stroking her. His lips plundering hers.
    She made a fist, and her nails dug painfully into
her palm. "I won't think about him like that," she
told herself firmly. "I won't!"
    Moments later the door swung open and Margretta entered. When she saw that Rachel was,
awake, she smiled cheerfully and her dark eyes
brightened.
    "What time is it, Margretta?"
    The woman spoke rapidly in Spanish, while Rachel fumbled with the few Spanish words she
knew.

    "No...hablo espanol I do not speak Spanish
very well, senora."
    Margretta smiled and nodded, rubbing her
stomach and pointing at Rachel.
    "Yes. I am hungry," Rachel said, feeling frustrated because she couldn't communicate with
Margretta. She wanted to ask her for her clothing.
She wanted someone from the Broken Spur to
come for her, but how could she make Margretta
understand? With resigned helplessness she said,
"Si, I am very er...hambriento." She pointed at
her mouth. "Hungry I am hungry."
    Margretta nodded brightly. "Si, Si, senorita."
She hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
    Rachel sank into Noble's bed, feeling his strong
presence beside her once more. If he had wanted
her dead, he'd certainly had ample opportunity to
get rid of her. Instead he'd saved her life. It did
not sit well with her that she owed him her life.
    A light knock fell on the door and Rachel turned
in that direction. "Come in," she said, thinking
Margretta had returned with her breakfast.
    Noble entered the room, his eyes on her face.
"Do you feel up to talking? I promise I will only
stay a moment."
    She had dreaded the moment she would have
to face him after her performance at the river. She
was acutely aware of him as a man since she'd felt
his naked body against hers. A blush tinted her
cheeks and her gaze wavered. She couldn't meet his brilliant brown eyes, fearing he would read her
thoughts.

    "I don't feel well," she said, wishing he'd just go
away.
    He ventured farther into the room and she
looked up at him as he stood there, so handsome
with the light from the window creating a halo
around him. He wore tight-fitting black leather
chaps and a stark white shirt. His ebony hair was
slightly windblown, as if he'd been riding. She had
the strongest urge to run her fingers through his
hair and
    Dear God, what was she thinking?
    Rachel closed her eyes because he seemed
taller, more intimidating with her lying down and
him standing over her.
    "Are you in pain?" he asked with concern.
    "Only when I breathe," she answered, trying to
sound humorous while still avoiding his eyes.
    Drawing the wooden chair close to her, he sat
down. "Dr. Stanhope said you will be fine. There's
no infection." His gaze dropped to the bandage
wrapped across her shoulder. "You were fortunate
the bullet wasn't lower."
    Her intake of breath was painful, and she swallowed past her parched throat. "You saved my
life." Now she did meet his eyes. "I feel obligated
to thank you for that, and for your hospitality,
which I'm forced to accept."
    "Don't speak of it." He looked as if he hadn't
slept, and there was stubble on his face he hadn't shaved. "We both know whoever shot you
was really aiming at me, Rachel. We must also
consider that he saw us together in the river."

    She lowered her gaze, feeling her shame like a
knife in her heart. "Yes, I've thought about that."
    "I'll find out who did it." He'd spoken softly, but
there was tempered steel in his tone. "You can depend on that."
    "If he doesn't find you first. As you said, whoever
shot me was probably aiming at you. Since he
missed his original target, he will probably try
again."
    Noble was silent for so long she glanced up to
see him staring at her. He dropped his eyes.
    "I wanted you to know you may remain here as
long as necessary. I have sent