Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series

by Cynthia Hickey

  For a moment, her lips relaxed beneath his as she kissed back. Then she stiffened and shoved him away. Her hand connected with his face with the sting of a hornet. “How dare you!”

  “That’s what happens when you wander around by yourself. That and more.” He grinned. “I do apologize. I’ve wanted to kiss you for days.”

  “If I had my gun, I’d shoot you.”

  “Then I’d have to lock you up too.” With her face flushed and hair mussed, John didn’t think he’d ever seen anything prettier. She managed to make him forget about swearing off women. His lips burned as if he’d touched them to a flame. His earlier assessment of Ruth leaving a mark was true; she’d placed a brand on his heart.

  She grabbed a butcher knife from the counter. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He laughed. “You’re more fun than a county fair.”

  “Get out.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now.”

  “Gladly.” He bowed. She might as well wear a sign around her neck that said trouble. If he was in the market for a wife, he’d need to think twice about one that threatened bodily harm, or cut a man with her tongue every time he got within two feet of her. Oh, who was he kidding? Ruth seeped into his mind, took root, and sprouted like a wildflower.

  She advanced at his slowness in responding to her order. He spun and dashed out the back door.

  Grandma brushed past him, her arms laden with dirty plates. “She gets under your skin, doesn’t she?”

  “Not mine, she doesn’t.” He prayed God would forgive the lie. His life had no room for romance. No matter how fetching the woman. The armadillo skin around Ruth Stallings could keep any man at bay. But not him. He might as well face it. He should eat his meals, enforce the law, and leave the females to their own business. Instead, Ruth occupied his thoughts at every turn.

  He sat in the nearest chair. “Grandma, I need two plates for the men in jail.” He plunked down two quarters.

  “Put your money away, John. We believe in taking care of the downtrodden. Be right back.”

  True to her word, she returned within minutes and shoved a basket into John’s hands. He nodded his thanks and set off for the jailhouse, his mind on a mahogany-haired, sharp-tongued woman.

  Chapter 9

  Ruth rolled out of bed the next morning, her lips still tingling from John’s kiss. She ran a finger over them, reawakening the heated passion he’d ignited in her blood. Her smile wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. She laughed, recalling the surprised look on his face when she’d threatened him. He’d almost looked as shocked as she’d felt, and her anger had dissipated until he laughed.

  She grabbed her oldest dress from a nearby hook and slid the faded green calico over her head. They’d never been wealthy, but lived well enough while their parents were alive. At least she’d had more than two sets of clothes. Somehow, she needed to make time to spend behind a sewing machine. But first, she’d need fabric and the machine.

  With a final pat to her hair and a quick glance in the mirror that hung between their clothing hooks, she strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of the waiting plates of food, then sidled through the swinging double doors to the dining room. John sat at the small table, dipping a biscuit in thick, white peppered gravy.

  Her stomach fluttered. The man had the audacity to wink! She pressed her lips together to prevent herself from responding like a giddy schoolgirl, or worse; like a bitter, old spinster.

  “Gentlemen.” Ruth wiped her hands on her apron while they quieted. “I’m sorry to inform you there will be no lunch or supper served today.”

  Groans accompanied her announcement. Ruth’s spirits lifted. The town’s men had quickly become a part of her life, reaffirming that uprooting her family was a good thing. Their constant surveillance still grated on her nerves, but she realized most of their intentions were honorable. “We’ll open again in the morning with extra flapjacks to make up for your understanding.”

  She sidled back to the kitchen where John grabbed a plate from the sideboard and her sisters washed dishes. “My grandmother and I need to make a run into Rolling Brook to purchase supplies we can’t obtain here in Painted Bluff.”

  “Yippee.” Deborah clapped her hands. “A trip to town.” She shot a gleeful glance at Sarah.

  Ruth shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’ll be just me and Grandma. You two need to stay and clean up.”

  “That’s not fair.” Sarah stomped her foot. “All we do is work.”

  “None of y’all should go. The road between here and Rolling Brook isn’t the safest place for two women alone,” John’s voice rumbled from behind her. “It’ll take almost half a day there. Once you leave this hollow, well …”

  “We’ll be fine. Thank you.” Ruth whipped off her apron and brushed past him. The slight contact gave her heart a hitch.

  He followed with his breakfast plate in hand. “I can’t leave town while I have men in the jail. They don’t get out until this afternoon. Tomorrow, if I have to traipse across the county.”

  “No one asked you to accompany us.”

  “I wish you’d wait until tomorrow.” He stuck a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  “I need chickens, a cow, and fabric. My sisters are in sad need of new dresses. Grandma is already outside waiting for me.”

  “You can get the animals here.”

  “But not the fabric.” She wrapped some sandwiches in oiled paper and laid them in a basket. “The mercantile owner said since the war, some things are hard to come by. Sometimes impossible. Rolling Brook is a larger town. They might have the things I need.”

  “There’ve been reports of robbery on that road.”

  “I have my gun.” Ruth patted the pocket of her skirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish up here. Like I said, Grandma is waiting. Deborah and Sarah will stay behind. Please keep an eye on them for me.”

  “Ruth.” John shot out a hand to stop her.

  She stared at their connection until he released her. The man was becoming too familiar for people of their short acquaintance. She forced herself not to think about the familiarity of the kiss he’d bestowed upon her. “We’ll be back late this afternoon or early evening.”

  “If you aren’t back by sundown, I’ll come looking.” He set the empty plate in the washbasin and stomped outside. “You don’t want me to come looking.”

  His shout drifted through the open window. John would come, too, with a glowering look on his handsome face. Ruth didn’t know what to make of a man, other than her father, who wanted to look after her, despite his obvious reluctance to have them in his town.

  Once she finished the dishes, she stepped outside, and froze. A group of the townsmen, armed with rifles, pistols, and even a pitchfork or two, circled the buckboard where Grandma sat. What now? Ruth shrugged, pushed through the crowd and placed the lunch basket in the back of the wagon. Someone offered a hand to help her up. Grandma passed her the reins.

  Grandma shrugged. “Seems they’re coming with us. Sheriff’s orders.”

  John grinned from the porch, his arms akimbo. Then he tipped his hat and strolled down the street.

  So, he thought he’d won. Well, she’d see about that. Ruth clicked the reins. The two borrowed sway-backed horses plodded down the road. The crowd followed. The constant supervision suffocated her. She could endure their presence on the way, then leave the men in town. It’d be fine. She’d promised to be back in Painted Bluff before dark, and the reprieve from being constantly watched by at least four men would be heaven.

  Within the hour, Ruth’s eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. It was all she could do to keep her head straight.

  Grandma took the reins from her limp hands. “Give me those before you fall asleep and these old nags take off running.”

  “Thank you. I am tired.” Exhausted, in fact. “I’m climbing in back.” Ruth lay across the hard bottom of the wagon bed and tried to find a spot where the wood didn’t dig into her hip. The plodding of the horses
provided a lullaby to lure her to sleep. She closed her eyes.

  The flames devoured the farmhouse built by her pa’s hands. Ruth glanced at the hem of her gown, stained with soot, then at the musket in her hand. Her sisters sat, crumpled together on the ground. Their sobs mixed with the fire’s growl and the groan of the house as it fell. Grandma stood, shoulders straight, chin up, tears cutting a path through the charcoal on her face.

  Her parents’ bodies lay mere feet from the carnage of the building they’d all called home. Anger tasted bitter on Ruth’s tongue. Anger at God. At the Bushwackers, who thought they could take anything they wanted with no regard to life. And at herself,f for not being home to help save them. Her hand tightened around the pistol’s handle.

  With her skirts fluttering around her ankles, she whirled and dashed into the trees. The fighters couldn’t have gone far. They’d pay for what they’d done.

  “Ruth.” A hand shook her. “We’re entering Rolling Brook.”

  She snorted awake. Her heart raced like a cyclone. She took a deep, shuddering breath. A dream. That’s all. They were safe. Her shoulders slumped. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “Long enough.” Grandma glanced at the sky. “I took a wrong turn back there. We’ll have to hurry to make it home before dark, but I got us turned around.”

  “You should’ve woke me.” Ruth smoothed her hair back and readjusted the bun. Grandma was famous for drifting into daydreams. Ruth only hoped this time they wouldn’t be in trouble for it.

  “You needed the rest. We made it, didn’t we?” Grandma steered the wagon in front of the mercantile. “We’ll just have to cut our browsing short. No harm done.”

  “Where are our followers?” Ruth rolled her neck to work the kinks out.

  “Uh.” Grandma hung her head. “I sent them on their way. right before we got lost. Told them that women needed privacy once in a while. It took a bit of persuasion, but they finally left when I promised them doughnuts with breakfast tomorrow.”

  Lost. On a road that split only once. More confirmation that if Ruth wanted something done, she must do it herself. She couldn’t rely on God, or family to get her where she needed to go. Not in one piece, anyway. Bunching her skirt in one hand, she climbed from the wagon, then looped the reins over a hitching post.

  The general store of Rolling Brook appeared twice the size of Painted Bluff’s. If it didn’t have the fabric needed to sew new dresses, they’d have to get very creative. The Stallings women were starting to look impoverished in their worn dresses—something they should never have let happen. As business owners they should be turned out presentably to their customers. They couldn’t afford their former style, but the dresses she’d seen the frontier women wearing would be serviceable.

  A bell jingled when she pushed open the door. The briny smell of pickles greeted her, along with the sweet odors of honeycomb candles and tobacco. Shelves full of canned goods and yards of fabric lined one wall. Farm tools hung on another. A blackened stove occupied the farthest corner. Two elderly men looked up from their game of checkers and nodded. Ruth returned their greeting and hustled to where Grandma fingered some crocheted lace.

  “We should pretty the place up. The men who come to eat would appreciate a woman’s touch.”

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “You don’t think our cooking is enough?”

  “I’m sure it is, but I miss pretty things.”

  “Buy whatever you want, Grandma. We can afford it now.” The restaurant brought in good money. They’d been open for a month, and not a day passed that the dining room wasn’t full.

  Ruth picked out fabric in blue, red, green, and yellow calico, along with several yards of white muslin. She spotted a pair of up-to-date button up shoes. An extravagance, for sure. But, like her grandmother, she missed certain things from their former life. She added them to the pile, then hair combs and shoes for her sisters. It almost felt like Christmas of old, when her parents would take her and her sisters to town to shop for gifts.

  By the time they left the store, the sun hovered low on the horizon. Ruth eyed the heavily wooded road ahead of them. Her heart sank as fast as the daylight. Any moment, she expected to see John gallop in their direction; his brows drawn together in silent anger.

  “Grandma, you should’ve woke me the moment we got lost.”

  “I know, but the day was so beautiful, I got all wrapped up in God’s glory. That looks like a haunted wood, doesn’t it?” Grandma’s whisper echoed on the lonely stretch of road.

  “They don’t call it robber’s highway for nothing.” Ruth clicked her tongue to urge the horses faster. A place haunted by mere rumors she could deal with; it was the living who wandered such places that put a spirit of fear in her heart.

  Sounds seemed to magnify in the encroaching darkness. The thudding of the horses’ hooves, the buzz of locusts, the drum of bullfrogs. All normal forest sounds.

  Two men on horseback blocked the thoroughfare.

  Ruth pulled the team to a stop where the forest grew silent. Her heart skipped a beat as she peered through the night at shadows.

  “Ruth?” Grandma clutched Ruth’s arm. “They don’t look friendly.”

  “Take the reins.” Ruth handed them over, slipped her hand into her right pocket, and clutched the pistol’s grip. “Keep driving.” She laid the weapon in her lap. She’d fired a gun at a man once before; she’d do it again if she had to.

  Grandma’s eyes widened at the gesture, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Ruth shook her head. Maybe prayer would work. At this point, she’d take what she could get. Changing her mind about Grandma’s capability to keep the wagon on the road, she took the reins back.

  “Yah!” She slapped the reins on the horses’ backs and sent the wagon barreling down the road. Grandma screamed and clutched the wooden edge of the seat to their personal freight train.

  The closer they got to the men, the faster Ruth’s heart raced. She braced her feet against the footboard. The men leaped from their horses and rushed the wagon, lunging at the horses and yelling like wild Indians. One of them ripped the reins from her hands and pulled the horses to a stop.

  “Look what we got here.” He gripped Ruth’s wrist.

  She swallowed against her revulsion. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Well, we planned on robbing you, but seeing the condition of these horses, I can tell you don’t have much money.” He yanked her from the wagon. “So, I’ll be expecting payment of another kind. Maybe somebody will pay money to get y’all back.”

  Bile rose in her throat. Ruth fought to control her trembling. She withdrew the pistol from the folds of her dress and steadied it at his face. “I don’t think so.”

  “Girlie, you’re outnumbered.” He laughed and swiped at her gun.

  Ruth jumped to the side. “Maybe so, but one of you will still bleed. Want to bet it’s you?” She answered his laugh with her own. A twig snapped in the woods behind her assailant. Ruth raised her other hand to steady the gun-wielding one. “Is it a good night to die, stranger?”

  “Why you little…” He took a step forward.

  “I guess he answered your question, Ruth.” Grandma whipped the musket from under her seat. Ruth raised an eyebrow. Grandma shrugged. “I’ve still got a few surprises up my sleeve. Hand over your guns.” She kept hers pointed at them as they tossed theirs in the back of the wagon. “Now you varmints get on them horses and ride ahead of us, real slow like. And mind your manners. You try to ride off, and I’ll put a bullet between your shoulder blades. Looks like we’ll have some company on our trek back to town.”

  *

  John rode hell-bent up the road and pulled short at the sight of Grandma with a gun aimed at two men, and Ruth driving the wagon like it was an everyday occurrence. He slid from Buster’s back. The Stallings’ women sure did beat all he’d ever seen.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve been looking for you a long time. I’m Sheriff Powell.” The silent partner whipped at his reins, as if to m
ake a break for freedom. “I wouldn’t if I were you, pardner. I’ve got an itchy finger, and I’m in a bad mood. Ruth, Miriam—I’ll take it from here.”

  “We can help.” Despite the quiver in her chin, Ruth straightened her shoulders.

  “You’ve helped enough.” His clenched jaw ached. Hare-brained women! Almost got themselves killed. When he thought of what could’ve happened, his stomach roiled.

  He tied the men to their horses and grabbed the reins, then led them to where he’d tethered his own mount. It’d be a long ride back to town. “Ladies, follow me, please.”

  “Don’t be angry with Ruth, John,” Grandma said. She propped the musket against the wagon seat. “The fact we’re late is my fault. I took a wrong turn on the way here.”

  “And where was Ruth?” He swung into the saddle, making out her features through the twilight. Moonglow filtered through overhead tree branches and left shadowy streaks across their faces.

  “Taking a much deserved nap.” Grandma folded her arms across her generous bosom. “You know how hard she works.” Even in the dark, John could tell both women glared in his direction. For a moment, he felt like a scolded schoolboy. No, they were in the wrong, not him. He refused to back down under their stares.

  When he’d seen Ruth and Miriam defending themselves, armed with one tiny pistol and a musket against two hardened criminals, he thought he’d drop dead right there in the bushes. However mad they thought they were, they could multiply it by ten to find out the depth of his fear and anger. Ruth or Miriam might’ve gotten a shot in, but one of them would’ve been dead a second later. Guaranteed.

  He glanced at his mumbling prisoners and the stony-faced women. John sighed. He’d never get it right where females were concerned. An apology for his rough words seemed like the next step, but he wouldn’t do so in front of strangers.