Книга - Sequins and Spurs

Sequins and Spurs
Cheryl St.John


Her Last Chance at Redemption…Singer Ruby Dearing is tired of life on the stage and yearns for a place to belong. She returns home to beg forgiveness from her mother and sister, only to find stubborn Nash Sommerton – her sister’s widower – in charge.Nash is prepared to fight this unruly beauty for his ranch, but Ruby amazes him with her determination to restore the house to the home it once was. Can he persuade Ruby to forgive herself and see the second chance they’ve both been given?







Ruby gave him a look filled with appreciation. “Thank you for putting aside your resentment and giving me a chance.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Nash took a step back. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

She offered him a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

He locked the kitchen door and went up to his room. Thanks to Ruby he had his children back under his roof and could rest easy about that. Her presence here wasn’t conducive to sleep, however.

He thought of her traveling the country with her theater friends and riding that horse all the way to Nebraska on her own. In a way it bothered him, but on the other hand she impressed him beyond measure. He couldn’t think of another woman who would be so independent or daring. Few females would have packed a bag, saddled a horse and ridden alone for weeks and weeks.

Ruby was not like other women.

And those differences kept him awake at night.


Author of more than fifty romances, CHERYL ST. JOHN’s stories have earned RITA® nominations, Romantic Times awards, and are published in a dozen languages. In describing her stories of second chances, readers use words like ‘emotional punch, believable characters and real-life situations’. Visit her at www.cherylstjohn.net (http://www.cherylstjohn.net)


Sequins and Spurs

Cheryl St.John




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.”

—Martin Luther King, Jr.


Contents

Cover (#uf205444a-9d8b-543e-a49f-8cfa3ba347a3)

Introduction (#ue27859ac-6bb5-5f32-87fb-bf93ee5568e6)

Title Page (#u7578ea68-64fe-5b53-acd1-f14c79e01393)

About the Author (#u5126e255-5926-5bef-88a4-2299f1fbcbb7)

Quote (#ue673ff27-5416-55a0-a7ba-a4054292b351)

Chapter One (#u7d01531c-dc82-5340-a1d0-b0e61ff5cecd)

Chapter Two (#ua9acf0b9-9ef2-58bc-9cd8-fba3fe03965e)

Chapter Three (#ue63c5142-dcb1-5074-87fe-dbb0c6da2505)

Chapter Four (#u8eee4c87-47b0-5615-b8e0-397643660ceb)

Chapter Five (#u326e4fb7-8f20-528e-a09d-0839d147ea51)

Chapter Six (#uc1fa54b3-28e8-5f10-b2fe-fe099aa8f2be)

Chapter Seven (#u16dfbaa3-4112-5fab-9f96-8c4f89bab8cd)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_1b3f7ac1-c720-51c6-b831-b36f5c756573)

Crosby, Nebraska, 1883

The screen door barely squeaked, but the familiar sound made Ruby’s heart leap. She’d never tiptoed all the way across the porch without Mama hearing that hinge and ordering her back to finish chores. Ruby Gail! Stop right there, missy.

Apprehension and uncertainty rising, she pushed open the unlocked interior door and entered the front room. In the remaining light of day it took a minute for her eyes to adjust enough for her to tell the furniture had been arranged differently, and the curtains at the windows were unfamiliar. The farmhouse sat eerily silent. No cooking smells met her senses; in fact, she wrinkled her nose at a faint antiseptic scent mingled with lingering lemon wax.

She hung her hat on a doorknob, lit the lantern sitting on a nearby table, and held it high to investigate. In the golden glow, she noted a light film of dust covering the wood furniture. Ruby frowned. Her mother dusted this room every day.

Stifling her unease, Ruby tiptoed across the dining room and through the open door into the nearly dark kitchen. Half a dozen dirty coffee cups sat on the sink board, but other than those, there was no sign of occupancy.

“Mama?” Ruby called. Striding to the back door, she flung it open and studied the dooryard. Chickens squawked from inside a wire enclosure. The plot where her mother always grew a vegetable garden was overgrown with weeds and a scattering of volunteer beans. Concern grew to a heavy weight in Ruby’s chest.

Lighting lamps as she went, she searched each room. Finding no one downstairs, she headed up the worn front staircase.

“Mama?” Ruby’s voice echoed throughout the upper hallway, and her unease rolled over into trepidation.

All the doors were closed. She went to her mother’s straightaway, a flicker of panic pumping her blood faster as she stood with her hand on the faceted glass knob. “Mama?” she called, more softly this time.

The bed was neatly made with a plain wool blanket, instead of the quilt she remembered. On the dresser sat an ivory-handled comb and brush set Ruby recognized. She picked up the comb and ran her thumbnail across the teeth. On the surface of the bureau remained a clean outline where the comb had lain. Her heart skipped a beat. She placed the comb back where it had been.

In the mirror over the bureau, a worried face—a face that had seen too much sun this past week—stared back at her. She looked down. Opening a few drawers revealed neat stacks of clean stockings and underclothing. The scent of lavender offered a small measure of reassurance. Dozens of memories washed over her, some of them good. In the armoire, Laura Dearing’s dresses and cotton shirtwaists hung in neat order. Ruby caressed a sleeve and drew it to her cheek. Where was her mother?

From the doorway, she peered into her sister’s room. It, too, seemed unused. Pearl had undoubtedly married and moved to town or to another farm. Perhaps she lived a far distance and her mother had gone visiting. If that was so, however, Mama would have taken her comb and brush.

After finding the other two bedrooms unoccupied as well, Ruby at last entered her old room. Pink-and-white flowered wallpaper had been added. Lace curtains replaced the faded checkered cotton of her girlhood days. She didn’t recognize the doll on the bed. Another child had apparently stayed here.

Opening drawers and checking the wardrobe, Ruby found nothing familiar—nothing at all. The few pieces of clothing she discovered belonged to a small girl, which was puzzling. It was as though Ruby had never been here. But of course, what had she expected? She hadn’t been home for eight years. Any clothing she’d left behind wouldn’t fit her fuller figure now, anyway.

Back on the main floor she did a closer inspection. There were staples in the pantry: coffee, flour, beans. The bin beside the stove held chunks of firewood, but even the stove was coated with a layer of dirt.

Ruby headed out the way she’d entered. She untied her bundle of belongings from the saddle, set it inside the door and then led the Duchess to the barn. “Hopefully, there’s something tasty for your supper, girl,” she said to the horse. “You deserve a treat and a nice long rest.”

As she approached the structure in the near dark, she spotted a building she hadn’t seen before. Farther to the west and bordered by rows of cottonwoods stretched a long low stable.

She led the horse to the trough first, then unsaddled her and walked her indoors. The three nearest stalls were occupied by very pregnant mares. Ruby spoke to each of them and rubbed their bony foreheads. “Who’s taking care of you ladies?”

The oats in the bin were fresh, so she scooped a pail, set it inside a stall in the back corner and led in the Duchess. The impeccable neatness of the barn contrasted with the evident neglect in the house.

Her mother’s absence grew more troubling, and Ruby didn’t like the growing feeling of dread. Heading back to the house, she found supplies in the pantry, lit the stove and made herself a pan of biscuits. She’d hoped for something more than what she’d been eating on the trail, but this was quick and filling.

She prepared coffee, washed all the dirty cups and then filled a pail with sudsy water and wiped every surface in the kitchen, changing the water twice. Wherever her mother was, she’d be mortified if she knew how much dirt had settled in her house. Speculation spun in Ruby’s mind. Someone was taking good care of those horses out there.

It was foolish to leave all the lanterns burning, so she moved through the rooms, turning down the wicks. Back in the kitchen, she was so tired she could barely think. She’d figure out things tomorrow and do more investigating when it was light.

She’d pour one more cup of coffee and then go up to sleep. Ruby settled herself at the table.

* * *

A sound woke her.

Disoriented, Ruby sat up with a crick in her neck and groaned. She’d fallen asleep with her head on the kitchen table. It was full dark, and someone was outside. Perhaps her mother was returning!

Ruby jumped up and peered out between the panels of the curtain. In the moonlight, a tall, broad figure moved toward the house. Certainly not her mother and definitely not anyone she knew.

She held her breath, waiting for the man to pound on the door. Instead of a knock, the doorknob turned and he entered the house uninvited. The hair on the back of her neck rose and her heart rate accelerated.

She shrank back against the still-warm stove, her hand coming in contact with the skillet she’d set there to dry. As silently as possible, she picked up the heavy pan and got a two-fisted grip on the handle.

The stranger fumbled in the dark, most likely looking for a match. He groped along the shelf beside the door, coming closer to where she stood. If he found the matches and lit the lamp, he’d see her standing there.

She was trapped in the kitchen with an intruder.

She stood in the moonlight that arrowed through the slit in the curtains. He stopped short.

He’d spotted her.

Shooting into action, Ruby lunged forward with the skillet.

Moving with more agility than she’d expected, the intruder ducked, and the pan whacked him on the back of the head. With an “oomph,” he crumpled sideways, striking a chair and knocking it over. As though fighting for consciousness, he groped for the table, but fell forward directly onto it and lay unmoving.

Heart pounding, Ruby reached for the matches and lit the wall lamp as well as the lantern.

The man sprawled across her mother’s kitchen table wore dusty dungarees and boots, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled back over corded forearms. He groaned and his hat fell away, revealing midnight-black hair and a jaw with a day’s growth of beard. He was a dangerous-looking fellow, one she’d never seen before in her life. He’d probably come looking to rob the place while her mother was gone.

“Now what do I do with him?” Realizing she still gripped the heavy skillet, Ruby rested the impromptu weapon back on the stove with a clang. This fellow was a lot bigger and stronger looking than she. If he came to, she wouldn’t have much chance of fighting or subduing him.

She cast her gaze about the room, wildly grasping for a solution. Noting the cotton square of toweling she’d hung to dry, she jerked open a cabinet to find a stack of embroidered towels.

* * *

Nash’s head throbbed and red blotches swam behind his eyelids. Attempting to round his shoulders and move his neck, he emitted a groan. A wave of shock racked him. He couldn’t move.

He blinked against harsh light, and the memory of finding someone standing in the dark kitchen swept over him. Something or someone had come toward him, and he hadn’t been fast enough to escape the blow to the back of his neck.

Was he paralyzed? Genuinely panicked now, he tried to raise his hands, move his feet. He could feel them. But why couldn’t he move his limbs more than a fraction of an inch?

Squinting, he opened his eyes against the painful glare. He was sitting in a kitchen chair, his arms behind him.

A figure moved into his line of vision. A woman in boots, a riding skirt and an unbecoming loose shirt. Some member of an outlaw gang hiding out here? Who else was nearby? He’d seen no one and nothing out of the ordinary when he’d come to the house.

She stood in front of him, and he raised his aching head to discover a startling halo of wild, curly golden hair. A jolt ran through his befuddled mind, but after the first initial stab of pain, relief settled over him.

He was dreaming.

It was the most realistic dream he’d ever had, though he couldn’t recall going to bed. The last thing he remembered was heading into the house. He’d never made it across the kitchen.

He studied the realistic vision standing before him. What on God’s green earth had his wife done to her hair?

She was a little more slender than he remembered, but it was hard to tell with that baggy shirt. In real life Pearl would never have been caught dead in a getup like that. She’d ironed even the dresses she wore to do laundry and cook and work in the garden, and all her clothing had been made in feminine colors, with collars and ruffles and pleats.

Hard to tell at that moment if his head or his heart was hurting more. He closed his eyes and made a concerted effort to wake up. Doing so, he felt lonelier than ever, but at least awake he had control over his memories.

“Who are you?” she asked.

That wasn’t Pearl’s voice. Pearl’s tone had always been soft and lilting. The dream woman’s gravelly voice sounded as though she’d been screaming for a week. He opened his eyes and frowned.

“I said who are you? What did you come looking for?”

“Coffee, I think.”

“Come morning I’m going for the marshal,” she said. “And you’re going to jail.”

“If Marcus Styles puts anyone in jail, it’ll be you.” Nash frowned again. “But then dream people can’t go to jail, can they?”

“Are you touched in the head, mister?”

“I wasn’t until....” He scanned the room as it slowly came into focus, taking note of the cup and saucer on the table, the cast-iron skillet on the stove. A very heavy skillet, as he recalled. “Is that what you hit me with?”

No wonder he was still seeing stars! He tested his hands once again, finding them securely bound behind his back. His feet, too, were firmly tied to the legs of the chair.

“Sit still or I’ll clobber you again,” she threatened, dropping onto a chair.

Now that she sat directly in front of him and he didn’t have to squint upward, he had a better view. Her shiny hair was wilder than Pearl’s, flaxen ringlets curling in haphazard disarray. Her face and hands weren’t pale as Pearl’s had been. But her features were delicate and feminine, her nose slim, albeit freckled. She had eyes as blue as his wife’s, but with dark lashes that belied her pale hair.

And her mouth... It was wider, her lips more full... She had a mouth that would keep a man tied in knots.

Something about her reminded him of Pearl’s mother, Laura, as well. Perhaps her eyes. Perhaps the stare that seemed to look into a person’s soul, and required accountability.

He wasn’t dreaming.

He knew exactly who this woman was. “The question is what are you doing here?”

“This is my home,” she declared.

“I don’t think so.”

“And what does a robber know about me?”

“I’m not a robber. Untie me.”

“So you can tie me up? Or perhaps kill me and steal everything in the house?”

“There’s nothin’ in this house that amounts to much,” he told her. “If I was going to rob someone I’d find a more prosperous rancher. And I know everything I need to know about you.” Then he added, “Ruby.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_ea203ce3-24b9-5fe0-a59a-475524e384a4)

Her eyes widened in surprise and she straightened on her chair. Her gaze darted aside for a moment and then narrowed on his face again. “How do you know my name?”

“You look just like your sister. Well, not just like her. You’re not as pretty.”

His insult didn’t seem to faze her. “You know my sister?”

Anger and remorse carved a new pain in his chest. He swallowed before saying, “Yes.”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“Nash Sommerton.”

Her expression revealed no recognition. She gave her head a half shake.

“Her husband,” he clarified.

Ruby’s confusion was plain, but oddly, it seemed tempered with relief. She cast him a skeptical glance. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Where is she?”

“Untie me.”

“Where is she?”

“Untie me.”

They sat like that for a full minute, staring at each other, hobbled in a battle of control. He knew a stalemate when he encountered one. He’d learned most of what he knew about this woman from his wife and mother-in-law, women who didn’t speak evil of anyone and who always expected the best. The rest he’d learned from what they hadn’t said—from the hurt on their faces and the silence that yawned when her name came up.

“Your sister is dead,” he said finally. It made him angry to say it like that. To be helpless to escape the fact.

“You’re lying.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and gave him an accusatory glare. “I don’t know why you’d say such a cruel thing, but you’re lying.”

“I might be a lot of things,” he replied. “But I’m not a liar.”

Her doubt was easy to read.

“Look around,” he suggested. “She’s not here. Hasn’t been here for nearly two years.”

“She’s probably somewhere else. If you’re her husband, she’s at your place.”

“This is my place.”

Ruby’s mouth opened and shut before she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“The Lazy S is my ranch now.”

“This is the Dearing farm.”

“It’s not a farm. Only crops out there are grains to feed the horses. Did you not notice that on your way in?”

She’d noticed. He saw it on her face.

“Two years?” she questioned, as though just grasping the information. “How could she be dead?” She shook her head. “I mean—how? How did it happen?”

“She was driving back from town with supplies. A storm came up and the wagon overturned in Little Wolf Creek. She was trapped under it. She drowned.”

Ruby didn’t want to believe him. “Where’s my mother?”

“You’d have known all this if you’d have been here.”

“Where is my mother?”

He drew a breath, but paused. Finally, he looked Ruby in the eye. “She died in April.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. Disbelief? Anger? “Now I know you’re making all this up. You expect me to believe they’re both dead?”

He shrugged as best he could with his hands bound behind his back. The woman was darned good with a knot. “See for yourself. Your mother’s things are all just the way they were when she was here.”

Plain enough, that statement rang true. Some of the color drained from Ruby’s cheeks.

He jerked his head to indicate an easterly direction, and winced when pain crept up his neck. “There are three graves up on the rise that overlooks Deer Hollow.”

The rest of the color had drained from her face by now. “Three?”

He resented being the one to tell her all this. He resented talking about it at all. “Lost a baby four years ago.”

She got up and left the room.

* * *

Ruby stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the worn banister, her heart in her throat. Crushing fear rose up and threatened to suck the air from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing this nightmare to end...willing sanity and reason to return. Needing her world to settle back on its axis and stop careening out of control.

The dust everywhere, her mother’s clothing, the vanity set and hairbrush... It all added up to confirm that man’s claims.

But she didn’t know him.

What reason would he have to make up a story like that?

She didn’t know him.

Where else could her mother be if he wasn’t telling the truth?

“Ruby!” The man’s angry voice carried from the kitchen. “Come back here and untie me!”

Trembling, she lowered herself to the bottom step and rested her spinning head on her knees.

His story did explain everything, even the hay field she’d seen on her way here...her mother’s forgotten vegetable garden. If all his claims were true and Pearl and her mother were dead, Ruby was too late. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. She could never make up for the past.

“Come back here now, Ruby!”

She disregarded his ravings and sat like that until her backside and spine ached. Sat there while the impact of that man’s information sank in. Ruby became lost in her thoughts and the grief that bore down on her. She sank to the floor and half sat, half laid with her head on a step.

She’d waited too long.

He stopped yelling and she lost track of time and place. Eventually, with stiff movements, she stood and crossed the foyer to open the front door. The first rays of morning sun were visible behind the horizon. From the porch, she watched them creep above the cottonwoods that lined the river in the distance, until eventually she made out the yard and barn.

Ignoring her complaining body, she set out across a pasture, dew making the grass slippery under the soles of her boots. A cool breeze lifted her hair from her face and neck. At the top of a rise, silhouetted against the pale orange sky, stood three crosses.

Heart aching, not daring to breathe, Ruby approached.

In the dim morning light she made out the names burned into the wood. Margaret May Sommerton. Pearl Dearing Sommerton. And the last—the newest—in the same neat lettering: Laura McWhirter Dearing.

Ruby dropped to her knees in the dewy grass.

All the way to Nebraska she’d planned what she would say to her family. A million times she’d imagined the scene and their conversation and reactions. She had so much to make up for, so much to explain. She’d made plenty of mistakes, staying away so long being the biggest, but she’d hoped for forgiveness. Now she would never get to say the things she needed to say.

She would never be able to tell her mother she was sorry. She’d missed her last opportunity. While she’d been singing in theaters, eating and sleeping in hotels across the eastern states, her mother and sister had needed her here.

All those years her mother had believed Ruby didn’t love her or care enough to come home—to stay home. But she’d loved Mama. Of course she had loved her.

Tears came then; great racking sobs rose from her belly and her chest heaved.

She hadn’t said goodbye.

Her grief combined with overwhelming guilt and regret until it hurt to breathe. It didn’t seem right to be here with the breaking sun on her face or to hear the sound of birds chirping in the nearby trees when the rest of her family was gone.

Finally, through her tears, Ruby turned her gaze to her sister’s grave. Now that the sky had brightened, the neatly mown grass in this spot and the beds of violets planted at the head of each plot caught her attention.

Never again would she see Pearl’s bright smile. Gone was the person who’d shared her memories of growing up, the sister who shared her father and knew the same pain of loss. Now there was no one to remember him with. No one with the same curly hair or blue eyes. Ruby was alone.

She turned her bleary gaze to the grave marked Margaret May. Buried here was the baby Pearl’s husband had mentioned. Ruby didn’t know if Margaret had died as a newborn or if she’d lived a short while, but in either case, Ruby felt Pearl’s loss now, and it became her own.

The wetness that had soaked through her skirt made her knees ache. Pushing herself to her feet, she studied the dip in the landscape and the trees that outlined what her father had named Deer Hollow, because of the deer that tiptoed from cover to feed in the early morning and late evening. A pair grazed in the valley below her now. The largest one lifted its head to look right at her, obviously finding her no threat, because it went right back to feeding.

A dim memory swirled into perfect clarity. Many years ago she and Pearl had lain here in the grass watching the deer, several of them with fawns. The sisters had looked at each other, marveling in silence. Ruby had admired her sister’s ability to wait and watch, while she herself had itched to creep closer. Her heart ached for that moment. For the years since. That same impatience had led her away, and pride had delayed her return. The land and the house were familiar, but everything else was different. Everything that mattered was gone.

Eventually, Ruby turned and made her way back across the pasture to the house. Making mistakes was nothing new for her. At least this one with Nash Sommerton was fixable. If she hadn’t addled his brains with that skillet.

She walked all the way around to the back door and opened it without pause.

Rather than seeing her sister’s husband tied to a chair, she discovered a pile of splintered wood.


Chapter Three (#ulink_f1c7318d-c34d-5cbe-a449-31b256cf2359)

Nash’s hands had gone numb before he’d had the sense to hobble to his feet and bash the chair against the cast-iron stove.

Mad enough to spit fire, he’d stormed through the house, finding that Ruby was gone. Finally, belly rumbling, he made himself something to eat. He figured as soon as it was daylight, she’d want to prove his story true or false and make her way to the grave markers. He pumped water, lit the stove and put the coffeepot on to boil.

He’d downed two cups before she returned.

Her appearance was startling. The front of her suede skirt was blotched dark. Not only did she look disheveled and exhausted, but her nose and eyes were red and puffy. Her hair looked as though she’d crawled backward though a bramble bush.

“So you’re Ruby.”

At the sound of his voice, she started and turned to where he sat.

“You’re not what I expected.”

She looked toward the coffeepot, shuffled to the cupboard for a cup and poured it half-full. Easing onto a chair at the opposite end of the table, she took a sip and met his eyes. “How did my mother die?”

Her voice was even raspier now.

He drew a breath and released it. “About five years ago the doctor said her heart was weak and that she needed to take life easy. Everything made her tired. She was pretty feeble.” He picked up his cup, but then set it back down. “A Cheyenne woman from nearby made her teas and poultices, and for a spell they seemed to help. At first she’d sit on the porch or in the rocker in the parlor, but eventually she couldn’t go up or down the stairs. She stayed in her room, mostly.”

Ruby kept her focus on the cup in her hand, obviously absorbing his words with great difficulty.

“Pearl took care of her,” he added.

Ruby’s gaze flickered to his momentarily. He could make this easier on her, but he wanted her to know how hard it had been on his wife—on the whole family. He needed Ruby to see how her irresponsibility had been a burden. He didn’t want it to be easy for her.

She stared into her coffee for a long time before raising her eyes. “You said Pearl died before Mama.”

He nodded.

“Who took care of my mother after that?”

“My mother came as often as she could. And Little Bird, the Cheyenne woman I told you about. Between the two of them and some of the ladies from church, we kept her as comfortable as we could.”

Ruby didn’t shed a tear now, but it was plain she’d done plenty of crying before coming back to the house. Her fingers trembled on the handle of the cup, and she quickly moved her hand to her lap.

Had she thought she would come back after all this time and everything would be as she’d left it? “Where were you in April?” he asked.

She appeared to think a moment. “Chicago.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Theater.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Acting?”

She nodded. “Singing.”

He couldn’t imagine that unusual, sandpapery voice of hers lifted in song. “Singing on a stage...in front of people?”

“That’s right.”

“They paid?”

“That’s how singers make a living.” She flattened her hands on the table. “Look, I know I wasn’t here for either of them. I should have come back a long time ago, but...but I didn’t. I sent Mama money every month.”

“You could have visited. Written at least.”

“I sent a couple of letters. I’m not much for writing.”

“Pearl needed help,” he said. “She took care of everyone and the house all by herself till she died.”

“I’m sorry.” Ruby set her mouth in a straight line.

“Sorry doesn’t fix eight years of neglect.”

She stared at her cup. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Did you get letters from your mother?”

“A few, but I never stayed in one place long.”

“Too busy to come visit, were you?”

“I had my reasons.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Stage performers didn’t have the best reputations. Not that he knew the sordid details, but he could imagine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. “I have to get out to the stock. Thanks to you, I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” she said. “And for...” She gestured to his head. “Hitting you with the skillet.”

“You could’ve killed me.” He got up and set his cup near the sink basin, noting for the first time that all the other dirty cups he’d left there were gone. He paused. “What’s your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I have to figure that out.”

“You plannin’ to stay here?”

“This is my home.”

He said nothing. Didn’t look at her again, just walked out the back door and closed it firmly behind him. He felt half-sick at the thought of her being here. He hoped she’d be gone when he came back. He had enough people to take care of, and sufficient worries on his mind already. He didn’t need her adding to his problems.

In the back of his mind was concern for the ranch he’d worked so hard to build. He’d sacrificed time with his wife and family to make it a success. Ruby hadn’t been in the picture then, but now...now she’d likely lay her claim.

She hadn’t stuck around before. To protect his children’s inheritance and his investment in the land, he could probably convince her to take off again. Or wait her out.

* * *

Ruby headed out to the coop and gathered eggs. She found a ham in the pantry, cut off a slice and fried it with the eggs. The whole time she used the skillet, she thought about what she’d done to her newfound brother-in-law. Her mother had always said she acted before she thought things through, and as much as Ruby had hated hearing it, that remained a fact. She gave herself the excuse of fearing a robber, and cast her blunder aside.

A hot meal in her stomach felt good. After washing the dishes, she heated more water and searched until she found a copper tub on the back porch. She dragged it into the kitchen, filled it and then slid the bolt on the back door before washing her hair and bathing.

The hot water soothed her aching muscles. But relaxing in such a way caused her to let her guard down, and she sat in the steaming tub and sobbed until the water cooled and her fingers and toes wrinkled.

She would never see Mama again. Never hear her laugh or see her smile. Ruby had missed her opportunity to hug her sister and tell her she loved her. She’d lost everything dear to her. Lost everything she’d turned her back on, her pitiless conscience taunted. Everything she’d run away to escape.

If her mother and sister had been so dear, why had she taken off and not returned for so long? That’s what Nash would ask her. That’s what anyone would want to know. She’d asked herself a hundred times, but she still couldn’t explain.

She’d been close to her father. They had been very alike, she guessed. He’d been the one person she could talk to, confide in. After he’d left without notice, she’d been bitter and angry. Her heartbreak had been disguised in rebellion and resentment. Her mother had relentlessly nagged and insisted Ruby attend church with her.

Ruby had hated sitting in church. Everyone there was looking at them and pitying them because of her father’s desertion. And all her mother had to say about his absence was that God was taking care of them. God hadn’t lifted a finger to keep Abe Dearing on that farm—and after he was gone, God hadn’t put food on their table or shoes on their feet.

At sixteen, Ruby had been fed up with rules and restrictions, weary of her mother’s constant admonitions. Ruby had packed a bag and caught a train.

She’d been proud. Self-reliant. Adventurous.

Impetuous. Foolish.

Lonely.

More tired than she’d ever been in her life, Ruby stood, dried herself and then dressed in a wrinkled skirt and shirtwaist from her bag. She couldn’t deal with emptying the tub at the moment, so she left it and climbed the stairs.

She chose the room that used to be hers, though the only familiar furnishing was the bed. After setting the doll aside, she opened the window for fresh air and pulled down the spread, climbing between the sheets and closing her eyes.

The best thing that could happen would be to sleep for days, wake up and find this had all been a nightmare.

* * *

Nash’s head ached so fiercely he left the hired men mending fence and rode northeast to a strip of land near the river that nestled between the Lazy S and the Sommerton property, where his father owned and operated a grain mill.

Little Bird’s husband had left her the strip of land, and she had remained after his death. There was nothing conventional about the landscape or the cabin. Wooden slews carried water to thriving herb and vegetable gardens that stretched toward the river.

Cages had been built against a squat, bare-wood barn, and at any given time half of them contained birds or small animals in various stages of treatment and healing. Frames made of willows and small saplings held curing hides. Peculiar scents of distilling syrups and natural cures permeated the air.

At his approach, a slender figure in a simple fawn-colored dress and moccasins moved forward from one of the gardens. She was a handsome woman, probably a good ten years older than himself, and she’d been a good friend to his family. Her hair was plaited into two long braids that didn’t show a strand of gray.

“Nash Sommerton,” she called, one hand raised in greeting.

He slid from his horse. “Little Bird.”

She held the back of her hand to his horse’s muzzle. Boone inhaled her scent and pressed his nose to her chest. “He says there is much confusion in your heart today.”

“I don’t know about that, but there’s a mighty powerful pain in my head.”

“Come,” she said, and gestured. “Sit by the fire and I’ll make you tea.”

He’d been inside the cabin a time or two, but Little Bird preferred to greet and treat her patients out of doors.

He took a seat on one of the slabs of rock situated around a fire pit. She added a chunk of wood before coming to stand behind him. Her deft fingers found the knot on the back of his head. “Did you fall?”

Nash held back a groan. “Not until after the iron skillet struck me.”

“I sense it was not an accident.”

“No. Pearl’s sister meant to put me out of commission.”

“I haven’t heard news of Pearl’s sister. She is visiting?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing besides knocking me senseless. She just showed up last night.”

Little Bird headed for the cabin. While he waited, a squirrel scampered close and leaped to perch on its hind legs on another slab of stone. The beady-eyed little creature stared at him curiously. It watched when the woman returned with a wooden tray and a small pouch.

She took a pan from a pile of utensils beside the fire, poured water from a gourd pitcher and added dried leaves. She measured out and added several drops of a tincture before setting the pan over the fire.

While that heated, she made a poultice. “Lean forward.” She separated his hair and pressed the warm compress to his scalp. “The arrival of Pearl’s sister was unexpected.”

He didn’t reply. It pained him to think how much Pearl had missed that undeserving woman, longed for her return.

“Laura Dearing often spoke of her.”

“Pearl, too.” He probably knew everything about the two of them as children, because his wife had shared it all. There were so many times she’d needed her sister. He couldn’t understand Ruby’s selfishness.

“You’re angry she left her family behind to seek her way. I, too, left my family when I married William McLeod. I haven’t seen them for many years.”

“That’s different. You left to marry. Ruby didn’t marry or start her own family. She just ran off.”

“Pearl’s sister had no way of knowing her mother would become ill.”

“She’d have known if she’d stuck around. Or come back once or twice. My head feels better already.”

“Hold the compress in place while I pour your tea and cool it.”

He did as instructed. His neighbor ladled greenish liquid into a gourd dipper, added cool water and handed it to him. “Drink it all at once. Don’t stop to take a breath.”

He found out right off why she’d told him not to stop. The bitter tea tasted awful. He finished it and shuddered.

“Saint Anthony’s fire,” she told him. “Tastes bad, but will stop the pain in your head.”

He trusted her. Once when his mother had experienced some sort of female infirmity, Little Bird’s remedy had fixed her good as new. The woman had cured one of his father’s mill workers from palsy in his hands, and last winter she’d made Nash an ointment for his cracked and bleeding knuckles that had healed them right up. “Yes, ma’am.”

He went to his horse and opened the saddlebag to take out a sack of sugar. Little Bird never accepted cash, but she always appreciated items she didn’t grow or gather herself. He carried the sugar to the doorstep and set it down.

“Thank you, Nash Sommerton.”

“It’s I who am indebted.” He took his hat from the pommel of his saddle and settled it on his head.

“We must travel our own paths,” she said. “Some try to tell us which turns to take and how fast to walk. But in the end it’s our journey, and we must make it alone.”

“Are you trying to tell me something about my wife’s sister?”

“I’m suggesting you don’t draw conclusions without all the information.”

He had plenty of information. All of it incriminating where Ruby was concerned.

Little Bird raised her hand in farewell. Nash tipped his hat and headed back to the ranch.

Approaching the stables, he glanced toward the house, and his heart skipped a beat. Sheets and pillowcases flapped on the clothesline in the sunlight, a sight he painfully associated with his wife. But of course it hadn’t been Pearl’s hands who’d hung the bedding. Dressed in a plain brown skirt splotched with water and with her sleeves rolled back, Ruby lugged a washtub to the side of the porch and dumped it out onto the parched lilac bush.

She wiped her forehead with her wrist and glanced in his direction.

Even from this distance, the differences between her and his wife were glaring. He’d never seen Pearl looking disheveled, not even on wash day.

Ruby set down the tub and wiped her hands on her skirt. Then she walked to the stairs and descended, heading toward him.

He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to see her. She stirred up too many feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

She approached to within several feet and stopped. “How’s your head?”

“I’ll live.”

“I said I was sorry.”

He said nothing.

“I was wondering about something. I noticed a couple of men coming and going from the stable and the barn.”

He narrowed his gaze warily. “Yeah?”

“Could they help me for a short time tomorrow, so I can move out the furniture to clean the rugs and wax the floors?”

“My hands aren’t maids,” he replied. What was she trying to prove by cleaning the house? It was a little late to show up and pitch in now.

She set her hands on her hips and fixed him with an exasperated glare. “I didn’t ask for a maid. I asked for strong backs.” She glanced toward the barn. “Never mind. I’ll handle it on my own.”

She turned and headed toward the house. The sun caught in her crazy hair and set the golden curls ablaze. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Everything about her made him ache. His heart, his head...

A sound caught his attention.

* * *

Ruby shaded her eyes and discovered a black buggy drawn by a single horse moving toward them. Behind it a trail of dust rose into the air. “Company?” she asked.

Nash had turned to view the approaching conveyance as well. He slid his hat back on his head, revealing a strong profile and lean jaw. Ruby glanced from him to the buggy. His expression didn’t give away his thoughts.

“Do you know who it is?”

“I know.” He moved toward the lane.

She followed at a distance, straining to see the driver, who turned out to be a woman in a blue dress and a wide-brimmed hat with matching silk flowers and ribbons. She guided the horse to a stop.

Nash took the reins, pulled the brake and wrapped the leather around the handle. The woman gracefully accepted his help and he lowered her to the ground.

She wasn’t alone. Two children crowded forward to be lifted down, but instead of placing the little girl on her feet, Nash enveloped her in a hug. With a gleeful cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her stockinged legs around his waist.

The smaller child, a boy in a pressed shirt and suspenders, jumped up and down impatiently.

Finally, Nash placed the girl on the ground and the boy leaped into his arms. “Papa! Papa!”

His cheerful cries penetrated Ruby’s confusion.

Papa?

The woman turned toward Ruby, her expression curious. She was lovely, with dark winged brows, high cheekbones and glowing olive skin. She took in Ruby’s hair and clothing before settling her attention on her face. Recognition dawned in her warm brown eyes and she asked, “Are you going to introduce us, Nash?”

“This is Laura’s other daughter.” He glanced at Ruby. “My mother, Georgia Sommerton.”

“I thought so.” Georgia extended a slender hand. “I remember you, Ruby.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course. You were an adventurous child, as I recall.”

“I suppose so,” she said, still distracted by the boy’s exclamation. Now the woman’s resemblance to Nash jumped out at her: her black hair and dark eyes...her defined cheekbones. Ruby studied the sturdily built little boy in Nash’s arms. He had the same dark hair and winged brows.

The girl, however, was fair and slender, with radiant skin and shining pale ringlets that hung to her shoulders. She lifted her curious gaze, and Ruby’s heart stopped.

Studying the child was like looking at her sister years ago. Her eyes were the same bright cornflower blue, her expression solemn and wary. With a small hand, she reached to grasp her grandmother’s fingers. Apparently the doll and the clothing in the drawers in Ruby’s old room belonged to this child.

Captivated, Ruby stared. Unexpected tender feelings brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back and retained her composure. The oppressive ache that had been a weight on her heart since the day before eased, and an unfamiliar joy rose inside her.

She tore her gaze back to the smaller child, keen to recognize a similarity to her sister. Nash’s hair...his eyes....

“Who is she, Papa?” he asked.

There it was. The shape of his lips...the tilt of his nose. Elation lifted Ruby’s spirits. She shot her attention to the surly man holding the little boy and pierced him with a glare. “Why didn’t you tell me?”


Chapter Four (#ulink_f6df971f-a66a-5af4-a63b-9599a1078ad9)

Nash scowled at her over his son’s shoulder. “Tell you what?”

“That my sister had children?”

“Didn’t know that you’d care.”

Was this what Ruby deserved? She took a deep breath and composed herself. Why would he think any differently? She hadn’t shown concern until now. His mother hadn’t made any cutting remarks yet, but there was still time. Ruby cast her a cautiously apologetic look, but her anger at Nash’s callousness simmered.

“Ruby, this is Claire,” Georgia said, and raised the hand that the girl held. “That’s Joel. Children, this is your aunt Ruby. She’s your mother’s sister.”

Ruby couldn’t have been more surprised at the matter-of-fact introduction.

Nash turned and headed for the buggy, with Joel looking back at her over his shoulder.

* * *

Georgia didn’t miss the tension between her son and her late friend’s estranged daughter. Nash had set his jaw in that stubborn way he had.

“There’s a bag with lemons under the seat, Nash,” she called after him.

He waved a hand in acknowledgment, and set the boy on the horse’s back while he unharnessed it and led it to a spot in the shade of a tree.

“I’ll make us lemonade and we can chat,” Georgia suggested.

“I’ll help,” Ruby replied. The three females headed into the house.

Georgia noted the wet porch floor and the basket of clothing that needed to be hung up, but Ruby walked straight past them and held open the screen door. She resembled her mother and sister, but her features were stronger, more vibrant. Any other woman would have tamed her hair into a braid or a tight bun to do laundry, but Ruby’s was loosely gathered into a tail by a faded red kerchief, with long spirals framing her face and trailing to her shoulders.

“I’m a little out of practice in the kitchen.” Ruby located a pitcher and a few glasses. “These might need washing. Everything’s still dusty. I’m working on it.”

She was a strong-looking young woman, competent, not frail or delicate as her sister had been. Her strength had nothing to do with size, though she was taller. Her appeal was in her complete lack of guile or airs.

Claire was obviously reluctant to release her grandmother’s hand, but Georgia gave her an assuring smile and gestured for her to take a seat.

“Where’s the other chair?” Claire asked, calling attention to the missing piece of furniture. Georgia glanced at the spot where it had been.

“It got broken,” Ruby replied simply. “How old are you, Claire?”

The child looked first to Georgia, her hesitation obvious. Georgia gave her an encouraging nod.

“Six,” Claire answered.

“And Joel?” Ruby asked. “How old is he?”

“He’s three,” Georgia replied.

“Still just a baby.” Sadness tinged the young woman’s voice.

Georgia had visited Laura and Pearl often, and they had been to her home many times. She knew they hadn’t been able to reach Ruby, so had to assume the new arrival had only just learned of the deaths of her mother and sister. Georgia didn’t understand her motives, but was sure coming back to this news had been shocking.

“The children have been staying with Nash’s father and me, so Nash can run the ranch. I bring them to see him as often as I can, and he comes to dinner on Sundays.” She paused, realizing she had no idea what this woman’s plans were. “You’re welcome to join us this Sunday.”

Ruby appeared surprised at the invitation. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

Georgia was curious to know what had brought Ruby here now, after all these years, and whether or not she planned to stay, but she didn’t want to bring up a sensitive subject in front of Claire. She touched the little girl’s shoulder. “Why don’t you run up and get the doll you wanted from your room?”

“Oh, yes’m.” Claire darted from the kitchen.

Ruby had heated water and was washing the pitcher and glasses. Georgia took a clean towel from a cupboard shelf to dry them.

Ruby gave her a cautious, but straightforward look. “You must be surprised to see me.”

Georgia nodded. “More than a little.”

“Your son doesn’t want me here.”

Georgia could only imagine how Ruby’s sudden arrival had surprised Nash. They had all wondered about her, but he had been here with Pearl and Laura all along, so undoubtedly he had more questions than anyone else. “The last few years have been difficult for him. He has strong feelings about all of it. About you.”

Ruby paused with her wrists over the enamel basin, suds dripping from her fingers. “All I wanted to do was make things up to my mama and Pearl. I came back to ask Mama’s forgiveness and to start over.” She shook her head, sending curls swaying. “Nash hates me for making things harder for them—especially harder for Pearl.”

Georgia was aware of her son’s resentment. “Hate is a strong word.”

“But it’s the right word in this case.”

Georgia had no idea what was going on inside Ruby’s head, but she knew her son well enough to know he’d directed a lot of anger toward the woman who’d unknowingly left all the care of her mother to his wife, and later to the kindness of his neighbors. “He’s going to need some time.”

The back door opened and closed, and Nash set the bag of lemons on the table. “We’re gonna wash up at the well.”

Joel rode his father’s hip as Nash headed out again.

Ruby took the lemons from the bag and found a cutting board. “He told me you called on my mother. Were you friends?”

Georgia nodded, not wanting to reveal more than Ruby was ready to hear. “We became good friends, yes.”

“Do you hate me, too?”

“Of course not. I barely know you.”

“You know what I did.”

Her frankness was surprising. “You headed out on your own and you sent money home.”

Ruby met her gaze with penetrating blue eyes, eyes like her mother’s, but more full of life and expression. “Mama told you that?”

Georgia nodded. “We spent a lot of time together. She told me many things.”

Claire returned clutching a rag doll. “The sheets aren’t on my bed.”

Ruby appeared flustered and brushed hair from her face with the back of a wet hand. “I didn’t realize that was your room when I chose a bed last night. I used to sleep there when I was your age.”

“You did?”

Ruby dried her hands on a length of toweling. “I washed all the sheets today, though, so I’ll leave them clean for the next time you sleep in your bed again.” She turned to Georgia. “I’d like to talk more when there’s time.”

Georgia gave her a long, considering look. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Ruby wasn’t sure what to make of the older woman’s lack of animosity, compared to her son’s, but she was thankful. No doubt Ruby would run up against a lot of people with the same negative opinion of her, so she might be smart to develop an even thicker skin.

It took a few minutes, but Ruby found a glass juicer and washed that as well. She then set to squeezing the lemon halves. “I have no idea how much sugar to add. I don’t even know if there is any.”

Georgia carried a chipped cup to the pantry and returned with it full. “This should do it.”

Nash came back and set a ragged square of ice near the sink. A few pieces of straw stuck to the surface. Georgia rinsed it off, found a mallet and chipped ice for their drinks.

When the lemonade was ready, they carried their glasses to the front porch. Ruby waited until the family was seated in what she assumed were their usual places before taking a seat on a nearby bench. An awkward silence followed.

“When did you get here?” Georgia finally asked.

“About dusk last night.”

“She slept in my bed,” Claire said to her father.

Nash didn’t look at any of them.

“How did you arrive?” Georgia asked.

“I rode in.” Ruby gestured to the corral, one end of which was visible from where they sat. She’d let her mare out that morning. “The Duchess is in the corral.”

“What about your belongings?”

“I had a couple of trunks shipped to the station in Crosby. I don’t own much that’s of use on a farm, though.”

“Ranch,” Nash corrected.

“I saw the mares ready to foal,” she replied. When he didn’t respond, she turned to Georgia. “Are your family all ranchers?”

“My husband owns a grain mill.” She glanced at her son, and Ruby picked up on something between them that made her wonder about his own family relationships. “Our daughter’s husband works there, too. Nash is the only horseman.”

When Joel got up and headed for the porch stairs, Nash followed. “Want to go see the horses, buddy?” He turned to his daughter. “Come to the barn with us, sweet pea.”

Claire glanced at her grandmother.

“Go with your father,” she encouraged. “We’ll be leaving shortly, and he wants to spend time with you.”

Claire set her doll on the porch swing beside Georgia and joined her little brother.

“She reminds me of Pearl,” Ruby said.

Georgia picked up the rag doll and absently smoothed its yarn hair. “She’s definitely the spitting image of her mother.”

“Not only her looks,” Ruby said softly, “but the way she’s so hesitant about everything.”

Georgia studied her. “Pearl was a good wife and mother. We all loved her.”

Ruby still heard no accusation in her tone or the appreciative statement. She glanced at the horse in the shade. “She was a good daughter, too, I guess.”

“She was devoted to your mother.”

Of course. Pearl had always done everything it took to please their mother. She hadn’t torn her stockings or misplaced her school books. She’d been a good student and had dutifully helped pull weeds, cook and put up vegetables and preserves. Ruby could still see them together in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a cake.

Her sister must have been a comfort to their mother. “How long was Mama sick?”

“Several years. There were times when it seemed she got stronger, but then she’d get weak again.”

Ruby had missed it all. The good days and the bad ones.

She’d been gone from home only a year when she’d realized her blunder. She had the freedom and independence she’d always craved, but there were no glamorous jobs for girls like her. She’d always been overly optimistic and impetuous, and more times than she cared to admit, those traits had landed her in tight situations. Leaving home with overblown dreams had been the most monumental of her rash mistakes, but she couldn’t run back to the place she’d escaped. There had been nothing here for her.

She’d been convinced she wasn’t cut out for a mundane life of cooking and cleaning and going to church. School had been torture enough—all those tedious days trapped inside and chained to someone else’s schedule. The world was too big and exciting, and life too full of possibilities to miss out on by following all the rules.

Besides, Ruby Dearing was not a quitter.

So she’d taken unglamorous jobs in saloons and gaming halls, avoiding crude advances and barely getting by, until eventually she’d joined a theater troupe and traveled. Sometimes the pay was good, other times just adequate. But she’d persisted.

If, at some point along that path, she could have swallowed her pride sooner and come for a visit... But there it was. She had held on to her dream until it was nothing more than a dirty rag. And now it was too late. She had always fallen short.

“Your mother loved you very much,” Georgia said.

Ruby had never doubted her mother’s love. Laura Dearing just hadn’t known what to do with her. “I was a disappointment. Even when I was here I wasn’t a pleasing child. I missed my father too much. I didn’t fit in with Mama’s routine or her plans. Not like Pearl.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Ruby. And everyone is different.”

She could wallow in self-recrimination or she could do something to make up for lost time. “Is it too late to plant a garden?”

“Probably not. Ours just went in a week or so ago.”

Everything she’d once thought tedious and unbearable now seemed like a lifeline to the stable life she had thrown away. “I’m going to get the house clean. And then I’ll plant a garden. I need to learn how to cook and put up things for winter.”

She didn’t miss the sympathetic look Georgia cast her way, but the woman replied, “I’ll help any way I can.”

“It appears you do enough already, what with the children in your care.”

“I have help at the house. If you need me, all you have to do is ask. Don’t be shy.”

“Shy isn’t one of my traits,” Ruby said with a smile.

Half an hour later, she trailed behind as Nash and his mother led the children to the buggy. When they reached the conveyance, Claire hugged him around the knees. Gently, he loosened her hold and hunkered down to look into her eyes.

Georgia deliberately stood a distance away to give them privacy, as did Ruby, but their words were still audible.

“I miss you so much, Papa.”

“I miss you, too, Claire.”

“I love Grandma and Grandpa.”

“I know you do. But it’s still hard to be away from home for so long?”

Claire nodded.

Nash wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “It’s hard for me, too. Thank you for being brave and helping with Joel.”

Claire nodded, and they hugged. Nash stood, picked up his little boy and kissed his forehead. “Thank you for being a good boy for your grandmother, Joel.”

Joel hugged his neck, and Nash peeled him away to lift both children up to the buggy and then assist his mother. He bent forward for Georgia to kiss his cheek, and she waved a friendly goodbye to Ruby.

Georgia led the buggy away. Nash straightened his shoulders in a deliberate motion, as though fortifying himself and keeping a lock on his emotions.

Ruby stood a few feet away from him on the grass in front of the house. “They’re beautiful.”

He turned slowly, his dark gaze ruthlessly taking in her features, her rumpled shirtwaist, her hair. He had a couple days’ worth of growth on his chin and upper lip, but his black hair barely touched the collar of his laced shirt. His eyes were so brown they were nearly black, his brows two angry slashes above. “I have work to do.”

“I have questions I’d like to ask.”

“Can they wait?”

His dismissal was even more abrupt than previously. The visit with Claire and Joel had clearly set him on edge. Ruby nodded and glanced toward the stables. “Who cooks for the hands?”

“We cook outdoors. In the bunkhouse if the weather’s poor.”

“I wouldn’t mind cooking for all of you. Might make things easier if you didn’t have to do it yourselves.”

His expression was unreadable. “You can get our supper then. Most days there are three of us.”

She might have said something else, but he’d already turned away and headed for the stables. After taking the glasses inside, she finished hanging her clothes on the line. The sheets were dry by then, so she made up the beds. She tried to put herself in Nash’s place and imagine how difficult the past few years had been. When she looked at herself the way he’d seen her, she couldn’t blame him for holding her absence against her.

Resigned to leaving her old room to Claire, Ruby opened the windows in her mother’s room, mopped the plank wood floors and shook the rag rugs. An upholstered chair with long fringe covering the legs sat between the two corner windows. Beside it a basket held skeins of yarn and knitting needles. Underneath them she found squares of fabric.

Ruby picked up the unfinished piece on top and looked at the white rectangle looped on the needles. She didn’t remember her mother knitting, but back then Laura had been busy with feeding and clothing two children and caring for a house. Perhaps this had filled her time after she’d become sick.

Next, Ruby cleaned and polished the furniture, which consisted of an old armoire with calico curtains on the doors and two small drawers at the bottom, a wood chest at the foot of the bed, a dressing table and chair, and the bureau.

Before placing the ivory comb back on top, she ran her thumbnail across the teeth once more. She could never get the tiny teeth through her curly tresses, but she liked looking at the comb her mother had used for many years.

Ruby got a fresh pail of water and tackled the coal stove in the other corner. Her mother had always set a vase of wildflowers atop it in the summer. Maybe Ruby would look for some spring flowers later.

In the bottom of the armoire she found the quilt that had always been on Laura’s bed, shook it out the window and spread it over the mattress. Grandma McWhirter had made it for Mama as a wedding gift. Daddy hadn’t stuck around any longer than it took to sire two daughters, but the quilt had been here for as long as Ruby could remember.

A resounding slam echoed up the stairway.

“Ruby!”

She straightened and hurried out into the hallway.

Nash stood at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up. “What in blazes are you thinking, woman?”

“About what?”

“About flapping your drawers for all the world to see!”

She came down two steps. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the clothesline. A rancher from Hope Valley came out to look over one of my mares, and your nether wear is hanging in plain sight. It’s indecent.”

“What am I supposed to do with my underwear to get it dry?”

Obviously exasperated, he took a breath and expelled it. “Be discreet, of course. Tuck it in between the sheets and towels. That’s what Pearl did.”

Ruby set down the pail she held and flounced down the stairs. “Well, forgive me for doing my laundry. I had no idea my drawers would get you all in a dither.”

His complexion reddened and it wasn’t from embarrassment. “I’m not in a dither. I’m a businessman trying to conduct a sale with a respectable gentleman who doesn’t care to see your drawers.”

“Then do your business and leave me to mine.” She moved past him and hurried along the hall toward the back door. The front door slammed again.


Chapter Five (#ulink_070297e4-5cdf-5405-92c1-d66ede036fc1)

After pausing to wash her hands in the kitchen, she carried a basket out of doors and unclipped her clothing from the line, quickly folding and stacking. From the corner of her eye she caught movement as a man climbed to his wagon seat and shook the reins over his horses’ backs. He turned his head and adjusted his hat, but it was plain he’d been taking a gander.

She waved in a friendly fashion and went back to her task.

A minute later, when she glanced over again, the wagon was rolling up dust along the road and Nash had headed back toward the stables. She plucked a wooden clothespin from the bag and threw it as far as she could. It dropped in the grass with unsatisfactory silence.

Ruby carried her clothing into the house and to her mother’s room, where she sorted it on the bed. Traveling with the troupe, the girls had hung their clean garments anywhere they could—most often in their hotel rooms. Ruby felt foolish for not having the foresight to realize it wasn’t polite to hang her things where someone might see them, but the sheets had already been dry by the time she got around to hanging her chemises and drawers. She wouldn’t have the beds made now if she’d waited.

It irked her that Nash had pointed out her mistake, and it irked her more that he’d told her what Pearl would have done. Of course her sister had known how to do everything properly. She’d probably never even said words like drawers or underpinnings in front of her husband.

Ruby didn’t like feeling foolish, and she wasn’t going to let her sister’s cranky husband make her feel bad. There were nice ways to say things, and he hadn’t been very nice about anything yet.

Yanking open drawers in the bureau, she took out all her mother’s stockings and cotton clothing, and unfolded and refolded each piece. Ruby didn’t own much everyday wear, so she’d be able to use most of the items herself. Mama would have liked her practical thinking.

At the bottom of a drawer she found a rectangle wrapped in a scarf and uncovered it, revealing her parents’ wedding portrait. Her mother looked so young and lovely, with a sweet girlish expression. Ruby ran a finger over the image, noting Laura’s simple clothing and the plain veil she’d worn over her hair. Around her neck was the gold locket she’d always worn. Seeing it stirred up more memories for Ruby.

Her father stood straight and tall in his three-piece suit. He was fair, with a thick mustache and curly hair Ruby remembered well. Seeing his likeness brought an ache to her chest.

One morning he simply hadn’t been at the breakfast table.

“Where’s Daddy?” Pearl had asked.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.” It wasn’t until years later that Ruby had considered how controlled her mother’s voice and actions had been as she’d hidden her panic and fear from her daughters. “He took the big brown suitcase and his clothes.”

“But he didn’t say goodbye!” Ruby had cried. “He must be coming back.”

“I don’t think so,” her mother had said, ineffectively dousing hope. “You girls had best set your minds to the fact that your daddy’s gone for good.”

Pearl had cried, and their mother had wiped her tears and hugged her.

“He’ll come back,” Ruby had stated emphatically, sure of it. Certain he wouldn’t just leave them without a word of explanation.

When her mother had reached to comfort her, she’d angrily slid from her chair and run out the back door. People didn’t just give up on the ones they loved. But with every day and week and month that had passed, her hope had faded.

She’d never stopped wishing. Wishing he’d return with hugs and gifts and assurance that he loved her. Wishing life wasn’t so hard for her mother, for all of them. But Ruby had also grown determined. She would not spend her life here, lonely and fading like dry flowers in the heat—like her mother. She was going to see places, meet people, live life without boundaries.

Obviously, the sight of the portrait had been too painful for her mother, so she’d hidden it away. Ruby set it on the bureau beside pictures of herself and Pearl as May Day fairies, with flowers in their hair, winding streamers around the maypole. She tested how she felt with the wedding picture in plain view.

Her father hadn’t married Laura with the intent of leaving. He’d obviously loved her and planned a life together. What had pulled him away?

Maybe his leaving hadn’t reflected on her or her sister. Maybe it hadn’t been her mother’s fault. Maybe he’d simply had a wandering spirit, and nothing could have tied him to this land.

Ruby discovered she liked the happy memories of her and her sister as children and her parents young and in love. The portrait reminded her she had been a part of a family once. They were all gone now, and her only relations were Nash and Pearl’s two children. She was going to have to learn to get along with him—and somehow prove herself to him. She would look at the faces of her parents and sister in the morning and at night to remember the good times and remind herself what was important.

A glance at the clock told her it was time to prepare supper, so she put away the clothing and cleaning supplies.

Her lack of foresight had left her with few choices for a meal. Tomorrow she would go into Crosby and buy supplies.

Out back of the house, she eyed the chickens in the pen. She had no idea what to do with a chicken, but she sure liked them fried, so she went in search of her brother-in-law.

* * *

“Hello?”

At the sound of her husky voice, Nash set down a bucket and straightened.

Startled that Ruby had sought him out, he met her in the opening of the barn door, where the late afternoon sun sent shafts of light across the hard-packed dirt. She walked into one of them, and the sun lit her hair like fool’s gold. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

“What do you want?”

“I wondered if you’d show me how to get a chicken ready to cook.”

Having her here made things agonizingly complex. He didn’t want to help her, but she did seem to be making an effort to do something useful. His belly was already grumbling.

She planted her hands on her hips. “I want to learn. And I really want to eat.”

He grabbed his hat and settled it on his head as he strode out the door. Since she was bound and determined to get in the way of a day’s work, he might as well get a meal out of her effort. “Got hot water ready?”

“No.”

“Not boiling, just hot enough to scald. Sit a big pot on the back porch there.”

She hurried to do his bidding, and returned minutes later.

“Don’t eat the sitters,” he explained. “If they’re on nests in the henhouse, let ’em be. You have to pay attention to know which ones lay regularly.”

She followed him into the pen.

“That one’s a rooster.” He pointed. “I didn’t know till it crowed the other day. Grab it by the feet and hang it upside down, so it won’t flap its wings.” It took Nash a couple minutes to demonstrate a humane kill and preparation.

If he’d thought she’d be squeamish, he was wrong. She watched the process with interest, listening as he explained, watching as he scalded the bird and pulled off the loose feathers.

“What about all these little ones that are left?”

“Burn ’em off over the stove. Then cut it into pieces for frying.”

She took the plucked bird from him. “Thank you, Nash.”

Simple words, but in that throaty voice, they seemed to hold more meaning. She made things personal with that voice. She had the uncanny ability to make him feel something besides anger and grief, and he didn’t like it.

He nodded and went back to his work. He had responsibilities, and tomorrow didn’t take care of itself.

His wife’s sister was persistent and would hound him until he answered her questions. He carried an uneasy feeling about what she wanted to talk about. He’d been working at the mill until he’d married Pearl. She and her mother had been hanging on to the Dearing farm and scraping by. He’d offered to take over farming if that was what they wanted, but Laura had been ready to let him do whatever he wanted with the land.

It had always been his dream to raise horses, and these acres held rolling hills of pasture and fields ripe for hay. It had been a sensible arrangement for them to share the big house with Pearl’s mother, and Laura had welcomed Nash and later their children.

Laura Dearing hadn’t deserved the hairpin turns life had dealt her. She’d been a kindhearted, devout woman who loved her family and should have had a husband at her side. She should have lived to a ripe old age and seen her grandchildren’s children.

And Pearl. She’d worked hard and sacrificed to help him get the ranch going. Their marriage had been convenient for both of them. She got a husband to take over the land and provide for her and her mother. He got the ranch he’d always wanted. He’d been preoccupied with the business end of things and the work. He’d figured there would be plenty of time for them to grow closer once the ranch was thriving. At least that’s what he’d thought until their life together had been cut short.

He’d already learned enough about Ruby to know there’d be no avoiding her if she was determined to ask questions and get answers. He steeled himself for the inevitable.

* * *

Ruby was smart enough to know the men worked till dusk before stopping to eat, so she waited until she was sure they’d be coming before she set food on the table.

The back door opened and the three men entered the kitchen. They had already removed their hats and were freshly washed. Their gazes shot directly to the table laden with steaming beans, biscuits and fried chicken.

Nash introduced the hands. “This here’s Silas Dean.”

The middle-aged man nodded politely. “Miss.”

“And Dugger Wiley.”

The tall young man gave her a friendly smile. “How do, Miss Dearing.”

“Call me Ruby.” She gestured to the table. “Sit wherever you like.”

They seated themselves and Nash picked up the platter of chicken.

“I never cut up a chicken before,” she apologized. “The pieces look pretty odd.”

“Don’t make much difference to how they taste,” Silas assured her.

“I found some recipes in Mama’s handwriting, but nothing about chicken. I guess most people just know how to cook them and don’t write it down.”

“My mama always says you can’t learn till you try,” Dugger noted, and gave her an appreciative nod.

The beans were still a little hard. She hadn’t quite figured that out, either. But she could make golden, flaky biscuits with one arm tied behind her back. She’d found honey and poured some into a small jar, which she passed around.

The men didn’t complain a whit about the food, eating as though they’d been served a feast. She got up and poured each of them coffee. “I found a jar of peaches for dessert.”

She had sliced peaches portioned into four dishes when she looked up and noted Nash’s expression. He was looking at the jar with a bleak expression. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Were these special? Perhaps I should have asked.”

He reached for his dish. “They’re just peaches.”

Dugger finished first. “Thank you for a fine meal, Miss Dearing.”

The others followed his lead and trailed out the back door. The last one to the door, Nash turned back.

She paused in picking up plates and tentatively met his gaze.

“Thanks.” He shut the door behind him.

“That must’ve pained you,” she said to the closed door. She doggedly washed the dishes, wiped the table and hung the towels to dry, before pouring a pitcher of water and heading upstairs, exhausted.

The silent house yawned in the falling darkness. In her mother’s old room, Ruby stripped off her clothing, washed her face and sponged her body before unfolding a cotton gown and dropping it over her head. She touched the fabric, brought it to her face and inhaled, hoping to find a trace of her mother in its clean folds. The scents of lavender and sunshine were pale reminders. She sat in the corner chair and surveyed the room she’d so carefully scrubbed and waxed.

“I’m sorry, Mama.” The silent room absorbed her voice. “I wanted to make it up to you—all the years I was gone. I hoped you’d forgive me and let me try to start over with both you and Pearl.” Ruby let her gaze touch the molding around the ceiling. “If you missed me half as much as I miss you now, I know how bad it was. I’m glad you had Pearl.”

She didn’t want to think about how hard it must have been on her ill mother when Pearl was killed. “Your room looks real pretty. I’m going to get the rest of the house just the way you like it, too.”

When she could no longer keep her eyes open, Ruby stretched out on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

In the glow of a lantern, Nash opened the stall door and studied the magnificent horse Ruby called the Duchess. It was his job to know horses, and he recognized this breed from a livestock exhibition he’d attended a few years ago. While they weren’t as perfectly proportioned as Thoroughbreds, Barbs were agile and fast, second only to Arabians as one of the oldest breeds in existence. Nash had saved for a long time to buy a Thoroughbred to improve his stock. He knew an expensive horse when he saw one.

Contemplating how Pearl’s sister had come by this one puzzled him to no end. He didn’t know of anyone in the country who bred or sold them. He ran a palm down over the mare’s bony forehead, and she twitched an ear.

Everything he thought he’d known about Ruby Dearing was being turned upside down. Pearl had never spoken ill of her, but Pearl never spoke ill of anyone. A few years after their father had deserted them, Ruby had hightailed it out of their lives as well. What drove a person to leave their family behind and disappear?

He’d been young once, frustrated by his father’s expectations that he work at the mill in hopes of one day taking over. Nash had told his father that he wanted something else—that he wanted to raise horses—but his father had turned a deaf ear. Cosmo Sommerton’s own dream of building a milling operation and leaving it as a legacy kept him from recognizing or appreciating his son’s ambition.

The few times during his youth that Nash had approached his father about going out on his own, Cosmo had become so upset Nash had backed down. He’d still been working at the mill when he was in his twenties. Through church activities he and Pearl had struck up a friendship.

Nash stroked the Duchess’s shiny neck and patted her solid withers. “You’re a beauty, all right.”

The horse nickered. It had been no secret that Pearl and her mother were looking for someone to take over the operation of their farm. They could no longer afford to pay hands to do all the work, and had come to the place where they were forced to sell or combine efforts with another owner.

Pearl had been one of the prettiest young women in the community. She was a sweet thing, devoted to her mother and a volunteer at church. There were plenty of fellows willing to court and marry her, but she hadn’t given anyone the time of day until she and Nash became better acquainted.

Nash had taken his share of girls to local dances, but the idea of marrying one had made his future at the mill less and less appealing. If he had a wife—and most likely a young family—he’d be stuck there forever.

One evening he had shared with Pearl his hopes for having a ranch. After talking to her mother, she’d approached him a few days later with the offer of turning the Dearing farm into a ranch. The land was there, the buildings, even fertile fields for hay and alfalfa. Everything he needed for a start. He’d set aside some savings, which he could use to buy horses.

Nash let himself out of the stall and checked on the mares as he made his way toward the front of the stable.

As he’d pondered it over, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted that land, he’d considered his father’s reaction. Nash had thought about their future living arrangements—and how everything would be more suitable and proper if he and Pearl married. His father would likely be more tolerant of Nash’s choice if love was involved.

And so he’d proposed, and Pearl had cheerfully accepted. They’d made the best choice for everyone concerned, and Nash had his ranch.

It had been easy to love Pearl. She was kind and loving and never complained, even when he worked long hours and spent nights in the barn with foaling mares. She had Laura for company, and later the children kept her busy.

In his heart, though, Nash sometimes feared he’d cheated her. He’d always planned that there would be time to make it up to her, time when they could take trips and he could lavish attention on her as she deserved.

But the horses always needed his attention. And then Laura had become ill, and Pearl had devoted more of her time to her mother. Nash recalled one evening in particular, when he’d entered the house after dark and Pearl had still been in the kitchen. The sweet smell of peaches hung heavy in the air. A dozen Mason jars sat cooling on the table, and his wife was washing an enormous kettle. She set it on the stove when she’d dried it, and turned to greet him with a weary smile.

“Are you hungry?”

“I ate with the hands.”

“Maybe a dish of peaches then?” One slender strand of hair had escaped the neat knot she always wore, and touched her neck. She tucked it back in place.

“You need your rest.” He stepped close and reached behind her to untie her apron. He hung it over the back of a chair. “Go on upstairs. I’ll bring water.”

The image faded in Nash’s mind. He had more and more trouble remembering their exchanges, especially with Ruby here. Ruby’s vibrant presence overwhelmed his senses.

Was that why he had so much trouble accepting her? Because she made him feel as though he was losing another part of himself? Just by being here she pointed out things he didn’t want to admit.

Ruby had been making a visible effort to ingratiate herself. She had taken some pretty harsh news and done her best with it, all things considered. He couldn’t argue about her right to be here. He didn’t have to approve of what she’d done in the past.

When he thought about the situation like that, he went back over his decisions. What would Pearl want him to do? What would Laura expect? He extinguished the last lantern and looked toward the darkened house.

He owed it to Pearl to give Ruby a chance.


Chapter Six (#ulink_d569f560-294c-5808-8608-0b253e2bc482)

The following morning, she was awakened by Nash’s voice shouting up the stairs. “Ruby!”

“What did I do now?” she grumbled, climbing out of bed and tugging on a wrapper. She padded to the head of the staircase and looked down. “Good morning.”

He stood in the entryway, looking upward. “Dugger and I are ready to move furniture before we head out to check stock.”

She darted back the way she’d come. “I’ll be right down!”

She had no idea what had changed his mind, but she was thankful. A glance in the mirror made her laugh. Her hair had a life of its own, and mornings weren’t her best. She could only imagine what Nash had thought.

She pulled on one of her mother’s brown skirts and a lightweight shirtwaist, found her shoes and tugged her obstinate hair into a tail.

Dugger handed her a cup of coffee as she landed at the bottom of the staircase. “Nash made a pot. Didn’t know if you like it sweet or not, so it’s black.”

She noted the front door had been propped open with a length of wood. “Black is perfect, thank you.”

She blew on the steaming cup, took a sip and steadied the coffee as she followed him to the parlor.

“How many rooms do you want to do?” Nash asked. “We can carry out the dining room furniture, too, if you like.”

“I would appreciate that. I’ll go take dishes out of the china cabinet.”

He nodded and set to work. Within forty-five minutes, two rooms of furniture had been moved to the porch and the front yard. Her mother’s dishes sat in neat stacks along one wall of the hallway.

“Is there a wagon I can use to bring supplies from town?” Ruby asked Nash before he could leave. “I’ll hitch up my own horse.”

He gave her a hesitant nod. “I’ll move the buckboard out where you can get to it. Might want to introduce your mare to the big bay in the corral. He’s good as the other half of a team. Doesn’t spook easily.”

Because Pearl’s death had occurred when a wagon turned over, Ruby’s question probably stirred up those memories.

“What’s his name?”

Nash gave her a surprised look. “Boone.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, and he and Dugger headed out.

All morning, Ruby scrubbed and dusted and polished windows. While the wax dried on the floors, she washed up, changed into clean clothing and headed for town. She would much rather have saddled the Duchess and ridden her, but that left the problem of getting things back to the farm. Ranch, she corrected herself.

Fences were in good condition, and the horses in corrals were handsome and healthy. She could see the results of Nash’s hard work everywhere.

Butterflies attacked her stomach as she reached the outskirts of town. She hadn’t been this nervous about going home. There would be a lot of people who remembered her from years ago, and most folks had known her mother and Pearl. As far as Crosby was concerned, Ruby already had a reputation.

One other buckboard sat in front of the mercantile, so she stopped behind it. The bell over the door rang as she entered the store.

“Be right with you!” a man called.

A combination of smells assailed her senses, bringing back vivid memories. Coffee, kerosene, leather and brine combined to transport her to her childhood, when she’d stand beside her mother as Laura made her meager purchases.

Two women, one older, one younger, stood browsing through fabric bolts. Ruby gave the mature one a smile when she looked her way.

“Ruby? Ruby Dearing?” the woman asked.

Ruby nodded, trying to place the face.

The younger one turned at her mother’s exclamation. Ruby did recognize her. “Audra Harper?”

“It’s Reed now, but yes, it’s me.” She laid down the fabric she’d been holding and walked toward Ruby. Her gaze traveled over the skirt that had been Ruby’s mother’s and over her barely restrained hair. “You’re the last person I ever expected to see shopping in the mercantile today.”

Ruby still wasn’t sure of Audra’s reaction to her presence. “I got here evening before last.”

“Do you remember my mother, Ettie?”

“Of course. Nice to see you, Mrs. Harper.”

“Well, I am surprised to see you after all this time,” Ettie said. “How long has it been? Seven years? Eight?”

“About that,” Ruby replied with a nod.

Ettie gave her a sideways look. “Some of us thought we’d see you at your sister’s funeral. Or your mother’s.”

Ruby fished in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her list. “I didn’t know of their deaths until two nights ago.”

“Shame to lose them both like that,” Ettie said, but Ruby didn’t hear much sympathy in her tone. “Your mother was a wonderful, God-fearing woman. She never missed a Sunday service until she was too weak to ride into town.”

“She always did set store by going to church,” Ruby said simply.

The white-haired man Ruby identified as Edwin Brubeker had finished with his last customer, and now stood listening with interest. She turned and acknowledged him. “Hello, Mr. Brubeker.”

“Hello, Ruby. I would have recognized you anywhere. You haven’t changed a bit, and you strongly resemble your sister.”

“Pearl’s hair didn’t look like that,” Ettie interjected.

“And you’re taller, aren’t you?” Audra asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her since she was thirteen or fourteen.”

“You’re definitely taller,” Audra assured her, as though it was important that Ruby know.

Wanting to escape their scrutiny now, Ruby handed her list to Mr. Brubeker. “I’ll look around a bit while you put my order together.” She dismissed the women with a brief, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” and headed for a wall of goods in the opposite direction. She stood looking at small kegs of nails and rows of tools as though they were of extreme interest. She’d wanted a hammer just that morning, so she selected one and carried it to the counter, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

After she’d picked out a few more items, the store owner had her order ready. “On the Lazy S’s bill?” he asked.

Nash hadn’t said anything about paying for supplies, and she hadn’t thought about it. The least she could do was supply these things. “I’ll pay now.”

Mr. Brubeker’s white eyebrows rose. He looked at the cash she placed on the counter. “My grandson will load the wagon.”

“Thank you.” Audra and Ettie were still hovering near the aisle when she turned to go. “Nice to see you both,” she said.

“What are you doing back in Crosby?” Ettie asked.

“Mother,” Audra chided.

Ruby paused only briefly. “I’m figuring that out. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Mr. Brubeker’s grandson was a lanky redheaded youth with a charming grin and freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks. He was still loading the buckboard, so she strolled along the street, gazing into the windows of the printer, the barber and a locksmith. A commotion at the end of the block caught her attention and she made sure the Brubeker boy was still loading her purchases before walking toward the gathering.

Next to the livery, a small crowd had formed around the corral, where four horses stood listlessly.

Ruby inched her way closer to the barricade to see the animals. They were all appallingly thin, with splotchy coats, and one in particular, a speckled gray gelding, had bare spots on his hide and ribs showing.

“What’s going on?” she asked the men beside her.

“That fella’s tryin’ to sell those horses, but don’t look like he’s gettin’ any takers.”

She observed silently for a few painful minutes. It was obvious the poor animals were undernourished and neglected. Ruby felt sick at first, but then anger swept over her. “Who do they belong to?”

“See the short bald fella over there? Him.”

She skirted the gathering until she reached the man he’d indicated. “Are those your horses?”

He turned and looked at her. She was an inch or two taller and he had to gaze up. His eyes widened. “Who are you?”

She ignored the question. “These horses haven’t been cared for or fed properly.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Who the hell are you and what would you know?”

“My name’s Ruby Dearing, and it doesn’t take a genius to look at their coats and ribs and see they’ve been neglected.” She glanced around, noting the curious faces of the bystanders. “Isn’t there a law to protect those animals?”

A couple men shrugged.

“Well, little lady. If’n you’re so fixed on the critters, why don’t you fork over the cash to buy ’em and take ’em home?”

Ruby’s skin burned hot. She shot the gathering of men a challenging look. “I’ll buy one if the rest of you will buy one.” She turned back. “How much are you asking?”

“Fifty dollars apiece.”

The man was both cruel and a crook. She looked him in the eye. “You’ll get ten dollars a head and not a cent more. Take it and leave before I find the marshal.” Reaching into the deep pocket of her skirt, she pulled out her coin purse and plucked out paper money. Casting a challenging stare at those around her, she urged, “Don’t let him get away with this. Take a good look at these mistreated animals. Someone has to do something. Buy one of these horses or you won’t be able to sleep tonight for the guilt of not doing what’s right.”

Grumbles arose, but three of the men produced money. One by one they begrudgingly selected their horses, until only one was left standing. Ruby shoved her ten dollars at the seller and marched forward. “What’s his name?”

The man glared at her and stuffed the money into his pocket. “Call the hay-burnin’ bag o’ bones any damned thing you want.”

He turned on his heel and stormed into the livery.

Ruby stroked the gelding’s neck and looked him over. He rolled his eye at her and bobbed his head. Patches of his hide were raw and he had sores on his legs. Her eyes stung at his suffering. The animal’s obvious misery turned her stomach.

Those who remained near the corral watched her. She took the horse’s lead and walked him from the enclosure, hoping he had the gumption to make it back to the ranch.

The buckboard was loaded, so Ruby led the gelding to the trough, let him drink a minute and then tied him to the tailgate. After climbing up to the seat and unhooking the reins, she spoke to the Duchess and Boone. “We’re heading back real slow. This fellow needs a good home.”

Once outside town, she stopped the team, got down to untie the gelding and let him graze in the shade of a tree for a few minutes. Back on the road, she turned and checked on him often as they made plodding progress.

Finally reaching the ranch, she drove the buckboard to the house.

Dugger had seen her approach, and joined her to unload the items. “Where’d the gray come from?”

“I bought him from a man in town.”

“Looks mighty sickly, don’t he? I’m surprised he made it all the way here.”

“Me, too.” She untied the gelding and led him toward the stables.

Nash appeared at the corner of the building and faced her with feet planted. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve brought home a horse.”

“I can see it’s a horse. What’s it doing here?”

“I bought it.”

“You paid for that animal?”

“He was in a bad situation, and I wasn’t going to leave him behind.” She stroked the horse’s withers and stepped nearer his head to rub his bony brow.

Nash’s expression didn’t reveal his thoughts. He looked at the horse for a long moment. “You’ve taken on a big job.”

“He’s had a hard life. I’m going to take care of him.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Well, feed him, first off. I’ll give him plenty of oats and water.”

Nash shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“This horse is malnourished. He’s not used to eating. Feeding him as you would any other horse would kill him.”

A bolt of concern rocketed through Ruby’s chest. “I let him eat grass on the way home!”

Nash’s expression softened. He visibly relaxed his shoulders. “Grass is fine. Hay, too. But no hard grains. You’ll have to start feeding him slowly, making mash like wet slop at first.”

“Out of what?”

“Soybean meal, linseed meal. It’ll have to be ground until his stomach and intestines get used to it.”

“Ground. Could I use the coffee grinder?”

“Don’t see why not.” Nash watched her stroke the animal’s neck. “Bring him inside, then get the grinder. I’ll show you.”

Nash didn’t know what to make of this woman bringing home a badly neglected horse. It seemed she’d made herself right at home—and she was; he couldn’t deny it. The land was legally hers. The agreement between him and her mother had been a verbal one. At the time Laura had been weak, but they’d all assumed Pearl would be here to retain the property and house.

Watching Ruby with the horse, recognizing her instinctive need to help the animal, played havoc with Nash’s knowledge of the woman. What was a footloose and fancy-free honky-tonk singer doing caring about the fate of an abused animal? He didn’t like this chip in his already polished opinion.

She headed for the house and returned carrying a big wooden coffee grinder with a cast-iron crank.

“Take the drawer out and set it over a pan in the back there,” he told her. “I’ll take him to a stall.”

Nash led the docile horse away, and Ruby did as he asked. When he returned he scooped soybean meal into a bucket and scooted it toward her. She cranked while he went for a pail of linseed meal.

When she changed hands, he realized her arm must be growing tired, but she was relentless. “Let me do the linseed,” he offered.

“I can do it,” she insisted.

“We still have the rugs and furniture to put back,” he reasoned. “I can do this faster.”

She relented, but knelt close to do all the scooping.

After several minutes of silence he looked at her. “I have to ask. How did this horse purchase come about?”

“I was waiting for Mr. Brubeker’s grandson to load the things I bought, and I saw a gathering at the livery. I was curious, so I walked over. A man had four horses he was trying to sell. They were all skinny and their coats were in bad shape. This one was the worst.”

“And so you bought him?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, glanced away, but then looked back at him. “Yes. I couldn’t watch that man any longer, and I couldn’t let him get away with mistreating those animals.”

“What about the other horses?”

“Some of the men there bought them.”

Getting to his feet, Nash studied the ill-treated animal and tried to picture the scene, but couldn’t. He certainly didn’t fault Ruby for her compassion, but she’d taken on a big job. “This should be enough food to last a few days. We’ll make a pailful at a time. Want to dip water?”

“Sure.” She got to her feet and soon returned, lugging a full pail.

Nash got a long wooden stick from the tack room and together they poured water and stirred. “Real thin,” he told her. “Then you have to let it stand and expand for a few minutes before you feed it to him. Otherwise it’ll swell in his belly.”

While they waited he went for a salt block and set it in the stall. At the front of the stable Dugger could be heard unharnessing the horses.

At last Nash carried the pail in for Ruby, and together they watched the animal lower his head to the slop and eat.

“And he can have grass, too?” she asked.

“Hay, grass, alfalfa,” Nash said. “You can’t let him out in the pasture for a couple of weeks. His intake has to be moderate until he’s doing well with this.”

She met Nash’s eyes. “You sure know a lot about how to take care of him. I would have done it all wrong and caused him harm.”

Her comment flustered Nash, but he didn’t let on. “Tomorrow you can wash him down. Then treat those sores.”

“Thank you, Nash.”

He never knew what to say to her. He had trouble acknowledging her, accepting her presence... Looking at her square on, he found she was nothing like he’d imagined or expected. Ruby was unusual. Provoking at times. But she wasn’t a monster, and he hadn’t wanted to admit that. Still didn’t. He stepped out into the corridor between stalls. “You did the right thing.”

Her eyes widened.

He turned and went back to work.


Chapter Seven (#ulink_94f648bc-a7b4-51d4-b5ad-d998b4d81f19)

Early the following morning a sound woke Ruby. She sat up in bed. She’d been so worn out the night before, she’d barely had the energy to put the last clean dish away and sweep the kitchen floor. Three rooms were spotless. The pantry and cellar were full, and she had rescued a horse. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms. This domestic life was more difficult work than singing and acting, but here she didn’t have to avoid the hands of lecherous men or sleep on a hard seat on a rocking train as it crossed the country.

Her youthful dreams had turned into unglamorous reality a long time ago, but she’d been too stubborn to admit her impetuousness, and too proud to give up without giving the effort her all. Nobody could say Ruby Dearing didn’t follow through.

Another sound from one of the rooms reached her. The unaccustomed noise drew her out of bed. She pulled on a lacy dressing gown over her nakedness and opened her door, stepping out into the hall. The sound came from down the hall, so she padded to the doorway of one of the bedrooms.

She peeked around the partially closed door to discover Nash standing before a bureau, adjusting a black tie at his collar. Seeing her movement, he turned. His hair was wet and neatly combed, and he wore a pressed white shirt and dark trousers. “Morning.”

She felt foolish for coming to look. Obviously, he and Pearl had shared this room, and his clothing was still stored inside. “Sorry. I wasn’t used to hearing anyone in the house in the morning.”

She pulled the robe around her more securely. As usual, she hadn’t thought ahead when she’d jumped out of bed and into the hall, with only this thin garment to cover her.

He took several steps toward the doorway. His gaze dropped to the V at her throat, traveled across her breasts and down to her feet before he drew his attention back to her face. “It’s Sunday,” he said simply. “Are you coming to church?”

“I’m not much for church.” Her skin flushed under his perusal. “Your mother did invite me for dinner, though.”

“I can come back for you,” he offered.





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