My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  Rebecca shook off the gloomy thought. This had been an extraordinary day. She was tired and overwhelmed, that was all. “What a fine store.”

  “I do all right. Well, I have Corny to help, too.” He stood.

  “Corny?” What a funny nickname. At least, Rebecca hoped it was a nickname.

  “My employee.” He tossed the rag behind the counter. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the stage.”

  If he had been—well, what was done was done. She should choose to see the potential of the situation. “Now we have time to get to know one another before the wedding.” She blushed so hot, it was a wonder a fog of steam didn’t mantle her dress.

  He looked about to speak when the bell over the door rang behind her. She spun.

  Rainwater dripped from Tad’s hat as he rushed inside, carrying her bags—oh yes, they’d been stowed at the county offices. “I am so sorry, Rebecca. What happened with Longbeard was bad enough, but Bowe grabbing you like that? I hate that he touched you. Are you hurt?”

  If bruises had formed, she couldn’t feel them yet. “No.”

  Relief lightened his eyes. “I hope you sleep better, knowing I locked him up.”

  She hadn’t thought of it, but yes, it did ease the knot in her belly a bit.

  “You arrested Bowe but not Longbeard?” Theodore’s brows knit.

  “Longbeard clutched a fork. No crime in that. Bowe held Rebecca hostage. Didn’t help his case any when he swung a punch at me, too. See, I’d be sleeping on that cot tonight anyway, since I’ve got a prisoner and the sheriff’s not in town.” His eyes were soft when he turned back to Rebecca. “I’m sorry.”

  His gaze held hers until Theodore gave a discreet cough. “I’m sorry, too, Rebecca. What a day you’ve had.”

  Suddenly, fatigue weighed her down, as surely as her wet dress did. “I would like to end it. Start fresh tomorrow.”

  “Need anything from here before we go to the boardinghouse?” Tad turned back to Theodore. “The Gang of Four took some of her personal items.”

  “By all means, take what you need.” Theodore turned up the lamp to brighten the space.

  “I don’t have the funds,” Rebecca demurred.

  “I’ve got it. Let me see here.” Tad fished in his coat pockets, placing their contents on the counter: a key, a derringer, and some coins, which he left on the counter when he repocketed the rest.

  “You have a gun,” she said without thinking. “But you diffused the situation without it.”

  He looked startled and then laughed. “I prefer to handle things by talking, I suppose.”

  Which he’d done, and rather well, too.

  “Put your money away, Tad.” Theodore waved his hand. “Rebecca, you’re to be my wife. I don’t think anyone would dare accuse us of impropriety if I provided for you.”

  And she did need some tooth powder, so she wouldn’t argue. She picked that up first, and then selected a plain, inexpensive comb and brush set, but Theodore insisted she take a silver set instead. After a minute, she’d chosen a few more necessities. Theodore handed her a bar of rose-scented soap. “None of the miners use this brand, but they’d smell a lot better if they did.”

  His quip coaxed a smile, but when she turned to the door, Tad was frowning.

  “Come on,” he said as Theodore extinguished the lamp. “Let’s get to the boardinghouse.”

  Mercy, how good it sounded. Proper or not, it seemed she’d be sleeping in her husband’s bed tonight. And she was so tired, she didn’t care.

  Light spilled from the windows of the two-story house, beckoning Tad inside. Mrs. Horner’s place was simple, but it was warm and comfortable—and sheltered from the downpour. Still, a trickle of unease snaked through Tad’s gut as he ushered Rebecca and Theodore through the front door. Would it be too simple for Rebecca? Too rough-hewn?

  His intended, Rebekah Rhys, would be thrilled to have a roof over her head, but Rebecca Rice? Tad shook off the concern like water drops from the brim of his Stetson Boss. Rebecca’s impressions, thoughts, and feelings were none of his concern. They couldn’t be. She was Theodore’s.

  Tad led Rebecca to the hearth in the parlor and excused himself to look for Mrs. Horner, all the while shaking his head at himself. In all the fuss, he’d forgotten about Rebekah. What would he do when she arrived? He’d told her they’d stay in the boardinghouse until the cabin was finished. Now there was no room for her, and since he was already technically married, he couldn’t marry her and carry her over the threshold of—where? The cot at the county offices was no bridal bower. He rubbed his forehead. Maybe she could bunk with Rebecca until the marriage was annulled.

  His wife and his intended, sharing a room. Lord, have mercy.

  “Mrs. Horner?” He poked into the kitchen. Sure enough, his short, slender landlady was busy with the kettle and a tin of tea. Dressed in her usual calico frock and apron, her gray-tinged chestnut hair neat in a bun at her nape, the widow was as predictable as the moon and sun.

  “Good evenin’, Deputy. Tea?”

  He didn’t care for the huskiness in her voice. It seemed like she couldn’t yet shake the sickness that took hold near a month ago.

  “For four, please. You, me, Theodore, and someone I’d like you to meet. Here, let me help.” He took the cups and saucers out of the oak hutch.

  “I’m sorry, but did you say Theodore?”

  A snort escaped his nostrils. “You think that’s astonishing, wait until you meet Rebecca.”

  Mrs. Horner’s gray eyes bugged. “Your lady-friend? She finally came? Congratulations!” A racking cough overtook her, but she waved away his outstretched hand. “This calls for cake.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. She’s not my Rebekah. This Rebecca is marrying Theodore.” He patted her bony shoulder, offering as quick an explanation as he could. His landlady tsked at the mention of the stage robbery and the tussle with Longbeard and Bowe, but her mouth went slack when he told her about the wedding, which he mentioned last, even though it was out of order. “She’s my wife, but not for long. And in the meantime, she’s got nowhere to stay. I thought she could take my room while I stay at the jail.”

  Her brows knit. “Bless her heart. A holdup, the wrong husband, and scrapping miners. What a day she’s had.”

  He carried the wooden tray of tea things to the parlor. Before he’d set them down on the low table before the horsehair sofa, Mrs. Horner had introduced herself and taken Rebecca’s hands and proclaimed them icy as January. “Longbeard is harmless. I can’t say the same for that Bowe Brown.” She dropped Rebecca’s hands and started pouring tea. “Or that Gang of Four. I ordered fine lace for curtains and they stole it from the cargo wagon. You and Sheriff Adkins have a lot on your plate, Deputy, between the shenanigans in town and the Gang of Four.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Tad didn’t care much to talk about it now, though. Rebecca looked about to fall over.

  Theodore led Rebecca to the chair by the fire and handed her a cup of the warm beverage. “This will help, dear.”

  The endearment nipped at Tad. Theodore had known her a few hours and already called her dear?

  Mrs. Horner sat across from Rebecca. “I’ve got four bedrooms—all taken. Not a big house, of course, but you’ll be snug as can be in the deputy’s room. Sheets are clean. Today was laundry.” She broke off, coughing with such force that Tad cringed.

  Tad sat on the stiff sofa with Theodore, thankful some of the fire’s warmth extended this far. His shirt was soaked from the rain. “Have you seen the doc in Silver City about that cough?”

  She shuddered. “I don’t like him. I’ll ask Wilkie for more tonic, next time he’s sober.”

  “Tonic can only help so much, and Wilkie’s a barber. Good for pulling teeth but not for treating coughs.” And he was rarely sober these days. Tad frowned. Some impression Rebecca was getting of Ruby City. Feuding cousins, a hostage-holding ne’er-do-well, a simple-minded, fork-wielding miner, an
d a drunkard barber.

  Mrs. Horner coughed again but then caught his eye. “I’m fine, Deputy.”

  Tad glanced around, seeing the house as Rebecca might view it. Dust thick on the furniture. Rug in need of beating. His meticulous Mrs. Horner was not fine.

  Rebecca shifted in her seat. “You have a fine home, Mrs. Horner, but I can’t stay. I can’t pay for the room.”

  “Send the bill to me,” Theodore insisted.

  “Thank you, but no. You’re not yet my husband, and I’m not certain it’s seemly for you to pay for my keep.”

  “Then I’ll pay you a wage. You can work in the mercantile.”

  After a moment, Rebecca nodded. Weariness lined her clear eyes, but her spine was straight when she faced Mrs. Horner. “If it would be of any assistance, I could help around the house, too. I worked as a maid in Missouri for a respectable lady.”

  “I don’t need a lady’s maid,” Mrs. Horner said before coughing.

  “While I know my way around a needle and basic coiffures, I cooked, cleaned, and shopped for my employer. For a time, her house also served as a Confederate hospital. Every hand was needed, so I know about nursing, too. Not that you require a nurse. All I mean is, I could help out however you saw fit, to thank you for taking me in under such unusual circumstances.”

  Tad’s estimation of her rose even higher. She knew how to work and she didn’t wish to be a burden. She also seemed to understand Mrs. Horner was a prideful woman. He tipped his head. “Sounds like a fair trade, Mrs. Horner.”

  “I think something could be arranged,” Mrs. Horner said after a minute. “I’d knock off part of the rent if you tidy and help cook.”

  “I’d be delighted.” A ghost of a smile played at Rebecca’s lips as she sipped her tea.

  “Finish your tea then, gentlemen, and shoo,” Mrs. Horner ordered. “Can’t you see this woman’s been through an ordeal?”

  “I’ll just get my things.” Tad mounted the stairs to his—now Rebecca’s—room. Thanks for settling this matter, Lord. With the burden lifted, he whistled. Everything would work out. Rebecca would be safe and warm tonight and fed again in the morning. He didn’t know a lot about females, but it was obvious this one hadn’t eaten in some time. Mrs. Horner would see to fixing that.

  His whistle died on his lips. Was Rebekah Rhys warm and safe tonight? Praying for her, he stuffed his clothes and incidentals into a carpetbag and headed back downstairs.

  Tomorrow he had more work to do than roping off Longbeard’s claim or going after the Gang of Four. He’d better start looking for Rebekah. She should have arrived days ago. Had she missed a connection? Fallen ill?

  Or changed her mind?

  Best not jump to conclusions. He’d find her. Meanwhile, he had another wife to care for, and he should hurry and get out of her bedroom.

  Alone at last in Tad’s vacated room, Rebecca unpinned her soggy straw bonnet. Oh, to wash her hair, but Mrs. Horner was bringing up a pitcher of wash water, not a tub. A sponge bath would suit just fine, tonight. Besides, she could make a little water go a long way.

  She hung her bonnet on a rack by the door. Did it rest on the same peg where Tad’s hat perched at night? Mercy, what a ridiculous thing to think about when she had unpacking to do. Theodore had placed her carpetbag on the foot of Tad’s bed—

  No, it was her bed now. Just because Tad Fordham was the last person to sleep under the white quilt with ringed blue-and-apricot fabric pieces didn’t make this his room. Still, the bedroom held a faint trace of his scent, the soap-and-man smell she’d caught when he’d bent down to kiss her at the end of their wedding ceremony.

  Warmth suffused Rebecca’s face. It would not do to dwell on that particular memory. Nor on the irony of the wedding-ring pattern of the quilt spread over the bed, reminding her she received such a token of Tad’s pledge—oh goodness. She’d forgotten to return the opal to him. She slipped Tad’s ring over her knuckle.

  Such a pretty ring. Turned this way, the stone glittered whitish blue with sparks of pink fire. Turned thataway, green glimmers joined the palette, the colors so rich and deep it seemed the opal served as a window into the depths of the earth. Had Tad purchased it for his bride, Rebekah, or had it belonged to his mother? With care, she set the ring on the oak dressing table. Its pale shimmer reflected the flickering glow of the coal oil lamp, spark and fade, spark and fade, as if it winked at her.

  Foolish thoughts after a long day. She turned her back on it and tested the mattress with her palm, sighing at the pleasant give under her hand. And the width of the bed—she could spread out tonight, if she wished. Roll from one side to the other. How long had it been since she’d slept in a bed like this?

  Since Pa died, of course. She and her older brothers, Johnny and Raymond, couldn’t afford their place and had to rent a room above a wheelwright’s shop. She’d slept on a narrow pallet so the boys could share the lone bed they’d been able to keep. Even that arrangement hadn’t lasted long, though, and she’d tolerated worse beds. But tonight she’d sleep in comfort.

  Her fingers traced the quilt’s pretty fabrics and fine stitching, lingering over the hand-sewn design. This past winter, she’d been caught touching her former employer’s bed. Well, not touching, exactly. She’d knelt to tuck in the sheet and, so weary her thoughts had jumbled like dreams, she’d rested her head on the edge of the mattress. Just for a second or two, or ten. Long enough to get caught.

  That night, her supper withheld, she’d been too hungry to sleep despite her fatigue. Her stomach had cramped, the ache spreading to her back and chest. But it was no excuse for what she’d done the next morning—

  Halting the memory in its tracks, Rebecca’s hands clutched at her midsection. Thank You for not holding my sin against me, Lord. Even when I can’t forget it.

  Mercy, the sun would be up before she ever unpacked. The package from Theodore’s store still waited, bulging with her replacement toiletries. She loosened the string and wound it around her left forefinger and thumb like thread on a bobbin. Next she folded the brown paper into a neat rectangle, setting the materials aside for future use. Only then did she sigh over the contents of the package. The bristles of her new hairbrush made a soft shh under her fingers.

  She set her toiletries on the dressing table and the opal ring twinkled again, as if the inanimate thing wanted her attention, or wanted her to think about Tad. Well, of course she thought of him. He was kind, and his smile did strange things to her insides. But that was neither here nor there. Tad’s kiss, like the memory of her empty nights in Missouri, was something she shouldn’t mull over, not when she had a future with Theodore. She rotated the ring, so its opal could twinkle and wink all it wished at the whitewashed wall.

  With a wheezing cough, Mrs. Horner bustled into the room bearing a steaming pitcher, which she set on the lower shelf of a barley twist washstand. “Everything look decent to you, Miss Rice?”

  The owner of the boardinghouse couldn’t be much more than forty, but her illness had clearly worn her to flinders. Her calico frock was a flattering shade of rose, but it hung loose on her slender frame, and dark circles shadowed her brown eyes. Gray streaks tinged hair the color of earth, pinned carefully at her nape. She was a pretty lady—widowed young, it seemed, and making a way for herself in the Owyhees. Rebecca took inspiration from her new landlady’s gumption.

  “It’s wonderful.” So was the thought of that hot water in the pitcher and lathering with the fragrant soap Theodore gave her. But it wouldn’t do to rush Mrs. Horner from the room, so she tipped her head toward the door. “How many other guests live here?”

  “I sleep next door.” Mrs. Horner crooked her thumb toward the wall. “Across the hall are two gentlemen from back East hoping to make their fortune in the mines. They won’t stay long; they never do, but there’s always a list waiting on a vacancy.”

  Rebecca’s brothers popped into her mind again—especially Johnny, who’d set out for the California mines. Last she’d heard fr
om him, he hadn’t found a place as nice as this house to stay in. It had been difficult to tell him good-bye, but then the war started and Raymond enlisted. Even before he died, she’d felt thoroughly alone in the world.

  Mrs. Horner coughed again, waving her hand over her face. Heavens, the woman wasn’t coughing blood, was she? Consumption was a horrible thing. Poor Ma had suffered so. Thankfully, no dark spots or flecks marred the handkerchief Mrs. Horner pulled from her sleeve, a good sign. Still, the situation bore monitoring. “May I be of assistance tomorrow morning?”

  “Sleep in, dearie.” Mrs. Horner patted the moisture from her eyes. “I serve breakfast at seven, but you’ve had an ordeal. I’ll keep a plate in the oven for you.”

  “You’re too kind.” Her stomach growled at the thought of breakfast, despite the fine meal she’d eaten at the restaurant. Rebecca pressed her hands to her belly to hush the rumbling.

  Over her coughing, Mrs. Horner didn’t seem to hear the noise. “Good night then, dearie.” She shut the door behind her.

  Rebecca twisted the simple lock on the door, undressed, and washed both her skin and the bloodstains on her undersleeves and the dress’s pagoda sleeves, luxuriating in the warm water and rosy scent of the soap. What a kind gift from Theodore.

  What was it Ma used to say about the kindness of strangers? It had always been a counterpoint to Pa’s words about the dangers in the world. Dressing in her nightgown and crawling beneath the line-crisp sheets, it was impossible not to think about how right he’d been, considering today she’d met stagecoach robbers and feuding miners.

  But as she snuggled deeper into the fresh-smelling sheets, Ma’s voice was stronger than Pa’s. The kindness of strangers. Mrs. Horner. Theodore. Tad. They’d all shown her care. She thanked God for each act of grace she’d received today, ending with Tad giving her this room and this bed. How would he fare in that cot in the closet at the jail?

  Theodore’s disapproving scowl replaced the image of Tad bunking on that cot, his long legs extending over the end. And really, Theodore’s image in her head was preferable. She had no business thinking of Tad.