My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  The mistaken marriage would be undone. It was best. Still, Tad’s gut clenched whenever he saw Rebecca, in the street or when she poked in to ask how his wound was healing. He wished his feelings for her healed at the same rate as his shoulder. Even now, he couldn’t help watching her while he was supposed to be listening to the reading from the Psalms. It wasn’t because he couldn’t hear, because Orr read, and he had the loudest voice in town.

  Worship services were held Sunday mornings behind the livery because it had a flat green spot perfect for the benches and chairs they used for seating. Since the preacher wasn’t here often, townsfolk read scripture, shared sermons from books, offered testimonies, and sang hymns. As much as Tad wanted a church in town, he would probably someday look back with great fondness on these services, held in the cathedral of nature.

  Although the June morning was already warm, Rebecca wore the blue dress with the undersleeves she wore when they married. While the ensemble appeared heavy and hot, she looked just as pretty as she had the day they swapped I-dos.

  Don’t go thinking about that again. Tad had to look down, and when the service ended, he jumped in to help return the seats to Mrs. Croft’s. His shoulder and chest were fine, if he didn’t lift his arm over his head.

  Rebecca glared at him, like she wanted to scold him for exerting himself, but she didn’t. He wished she would. Anything to be close to her.

  Three weeks of cousinly distance hadn’t eased the ache in his gut, even though he knew it was best. He’d gone into the mercantile three weeks ago with the excuse of paying that bill Theodore sent to him, but in truth, he’d wanted to see Rebecca again, to make sure this was what she wanted.

  She’d made it clear that she did. She chose Theodore. It wasn’t like he had another option for her. For one tiny second, he thought of offering her himself, but he was a deputy and had dreams that wouldn’t fit into her tidy world.

  It was high time he started to live his life, too.

  Rather than picnic with the other churchgoers, he saddled Solomon and rode up the paths until he reached a crest. He slid off the saddle and hiked onward until he could look down on a view of the flat emerald sea of bunch grass and white sage below.

  More than a week ago, he’d volunteered to patrol for the sheriff, requesting to take a detour along the way. He’d followed directions to a parcel of grassland below near a creek, and he’d stood on its sage-scented soil, listening to the black-throated sparrows and praying. And he’d come to a decision.

  Pa wouldn’t like it. Tad might not succeed, either. He was taking a risk, and he’d be alone in his venture, but he was ready to set down roots near the community he loved. Tomorrow he would file papers, and then he’d see about purchasing cattle.

  He was going out of the livery business and starting a ranch.

  Late on Thursday afternoon, Rebecca hurried to Mrs. Horner’s to serve supper, blowing on her fingers. They ached from a productive afternoon of sewing at Cornelia’s house. Theodore had given them the fabric for Cornelia’s dress, generous man that he was, and for the past three weeks after supper each evening at the boardinghouse, Rebecca had ventured to Cornelia’s to measure, cut, and stitch the dress. At last, the dress was almost finished.

  Many of those evenings, Theodore was at the Cook family table when she arrived, having enjoyed a supper. Rebecca joined in for dessert, squeezing into the table. Theodore had been correct: Ingrid Cook had a way in the kitchen. She was a short, portly woman with faded red hair and a pleasant smile, and she and her husband, Ebenezer, bantered with such affection it was impossible for Rebecca not to be jealous of their marriage. Their home was chaotic, with seven children, but it was wonderful to be there amid the noise and fun.

  It was pleasant to spend time with Theodore on those evenings, too, but Rebecca couldn’t help wishing they could spend time alone on occasion, courting. True, he escorted her home on those evenings, and he sat with her at church and worked with her at the mercantile, but his polite, restrained demeanor wasn’t precisely that of a courting swain with his sweetheart.

  Well, they weren’t engaged. For now. But shouldn’t he want to know her better?

  Rebecca cringed. How ungrateful she was. She was warm and fed. She even had a new friend now, too, in Cornelia, who showed interest in Rebecca’s nursing skills, because she was always patching up one of her younger brothers or sisters.

  Rebecca hadn’t patched anyone up of late, however, nor had she examined Tad’s wound again. She sighed, preparing to turn onto the main street of town. Just thinking about Tad made her insides whirl like a cyclone, probably from guilt, because she should not be thinking of him at all. At worship services Sunday, she’d seen how he looked at her, like he missed her. Well, she missed him, too, but they were to be cousins-in-law and no more. Once the annulment happened, her stomach would settle and things would be as they should be. Nice and quiet—

  The street was not the least bit quiet. Townsfolk hunkered in groups in the street, including a handful gathered around one of the saloons, peering in the grimy windows. A few townsmen, including Ulysses and Tad, hauled shouting men she didn’t recognize into the county offices.

  Her heart stopped beating.

  Jeroboam burst out of the barbershop, his eyes wide. She marched across the street. “Jeroboam? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Bowe.”

  Wasn’t Bowe banished from town for holding her hostage and striking Tad?

  Jeroboam doffed his hat. “There was a brawl. He got hit and his head’s bleedin’ somethin’ awful and he won’t wake up. I went for Wilkie, but he’s not in a state to do any doctorin’. Not a surprise, seeing as it’s his wife’s birthday.”

  Oh dear. “Where is Bowe?”

  Jeroboam pointed. Rebecca gulped.

  The saloon. Well, there was nothing for it.

  She stomped past the gathering of folks into the saloon. The odors of unwashed bodies and liquor hit her at the same time that her vision darkened, adjusting to the dimmer light.

  Blinking, she made her way toward the figure on the floor. Jeroboam hadn’t exaggerated. Blood matted Bowe’s dark hair and pooled around his head. She sank to her haunches, and her fingers crawled around his skull. The wound was jagged and riddled with glass shards, indicating he’d been struck with a bottle, but it could be sewn shut. She glanced up. “I need more light, hot water, and my nursing bag from Mrs. Horner’s.”

  “I’ll fetch the bag.” Jeroboam dashed out.

  The scruffy barkeep appeared at her elbow with a lamp, but crouching like this wouldn’t do. “Is there a table long enough to lay him on?”

  “The bar,” the barkeep said. “But I don’t want nobody dyin’ on it. Bad for business.”

  And a brawl wasn’t? Rebecca rose and followed the fellows who hoisted Bowe atop the bar. He was too wide, but they’d hold him down if he stirred. “If you have a clean towel to put under his head, that would be a help, Mr…. What’s your name?”

  “Modine, Miss Rice.” The barkeep shoved a damp-looking rag under Bowe’s head. It would have to do. “Not surprised you don’t know me, but ever’one in town knows you and your matrimonial troubles.”

  Rebecca choked. Thankfully, Jeroboam rushed in, holding out her bag. “Mrs. Horner says she’s on her way with linens.”

  “Good.” But her gaze wasn’t on him or the bag. Tad followed Jeroboam inside, the badge pinned to his plaid vest winking in the dim. She nodded at him, cool and cousin-like, but her heart pounded against her rib cage.

  He moved beside her, smelling of wood and wind. “The Anderson brothers are locked up. Orr’s keeping an eye on them since the sheriff’s on patrol. How can I help?”

  “Would you hold the light? I need to clean the wound.”

  Before she finished speaking, Jeroboam bit the cork out of a bottle. “Cleaning? Whiskey works.”

  A sharp smell permeated Rebecca’s senses. “Water will do—”

  “Hey, you didn’t pay for that.” Modine yank
ed on the bottle. In an instant, the contents sloshed out, splashing Rebecca and running down the counter.

  Rebecca didn’t have time to mop herself, not the way Bowe’s blood was flowing onto that soggy towel. While Modine and Jeroboam bickered about the whiskey, she removed her tweezers from the bag. She had to remove glass fragments before she stitched.

  When she shifted position to improve her vantage, Tad lifted the lamp and held it so she could easier see. “Is that a piece, there?”

  “Good eye, thanks. It isn’t easy to spy dark glass in wet brown hair.” She plucked it out and then splayed her fingers through Bowe’s thick curls, feeling for any more glass shards.

  Light spilled over the bar, indicating the door opened again. Mrs. Horner, probably. Rebecca could use those linens to replace the soggy, glass-strewn rag under Bowe’s head.

  “What are you doing, Rebecca?”

  Theodore’s sharp voice dragged her gaze up. With the light behind him, Rebecca couldn’t make out his expression, but there was no mistaking his horrified tone.

  “Bowe’s got a gash behind his ear that needs tending.” She found her scissors and cut a swatch of hair as close to the scalp as she could. Pity Wilkie wasn’t sober enough to shave the area.

  Theodore moved to her elbow. “But Rebecca, you know who this is and where you are. Someone else can do this.”

  Like who? “Wilkie’s passed out cold. Tad and Uncle Giff have tended mules, but that’s not quite the same as a head wound.” Rebecca squinted, threading the needle.

  Ulysses tapped her shoulder. “I could try. I got experience stitching soles back on my shoes.”

  “I think Rebecca can handle it.” Tad’s gaze was on Theodore, however, not Ulysses.

  Theodore took Rebecca’s arm, forestalling her from further motion. “You’re running your fingers through his hair.”

  “Searching for glass. Theodore, can we discuss this later?”

  His hazel eyes flashed black as jet.

  The door swung open again. Mrs. Horner, just in time. Rebecca issued instructions, and Tad lifted Bowe’s head while Mrs. Horner swapped out the blood-and-whiskey soaked rag for a clean towel. Rebecca set to work. “Tad, hold the light here, please.”

  Tad complied. A few seconds later, the door swung again, but this time, Rebecca knew without looking that no one had entered the saloon. Theodore had left it.

  It was close to suppertime when Tad stepped out the back door of the county office. He’d left Jeroboam inside, standing guard so Tad could clean up and eat before a long night ahead. The office cot was never comfortable, but the way Bowe Brown and the Anderson brothers carried on, fighting about who was to blame for the brawl, Tad guessed none of them would get much rest tonight.

  At least Bowe was awake, locked in one cell while the Anderson brothers occupied the other. It seemed Bowe had accused them all of cheating at cards, and he’d been right. They all claimed to have hit him with their fists, but none would admit to striking him with a whiskey bottle.

  A crowd still milled on the street out front, so Tad had chosen to take the back route behind the businesses so he wouldn’t have to chat on his way to the livery. All he wanted was supper and a change of clothes.

  The back door to the mercantile was left open to the breeze. Theodore hadn’t been happy at the saloon, so Tad wouldn’t poke in to say hello. He wouldn’t even look at the open door. He’d just walk past and hopefully Theodore wouldn’t even see him.

  A conversation carried out, stopping him short before he reached the door, however.

  “It’s uncouth, you combing a man’s hair with your fingers.” Theodore’s unmistakable voice was clipped.

  Tad should just turn and go back the other way, but his feet wouldn’t move. It seemed he lost the good sense God gave him where Rebecca was concerned.

  “I was removing shards of glass from his scalp, and I assure you, I did not enjoy touching his bloody, whiskey-soaked hair.” Tad could imagine her face: parted lips, eyes wide with surprise at Theodore’s comment.

  “That’s another thing.” Theodore’s voice rose. “The whiskey. You reek of it. A lady like you, making yourself at home in a saloon—”

  “I didn’t make myself at home, and if I stink, it’s because Jeroboam Jones spilled alcohol on everything. Which bothers you most, that I stepped foot in a saloon, or that I sewed up a fellow like Bowe Brown? Because I don’t think the Lord is upset that I tended a man who didn’t deserve it. That’s what grace is. Who would I be if I don’t extend some myself?”

  Tad inched back so he could round the bank and take the front way to the livery. Much as he wanted to burst into the storeroom and defend Rebecca, she didn’t seem to need it. Nor is it your place. They’re to be married, after all. Couples need to work out their troubles and misunderstandings from time to time.

  What had his mother said about her squabbles with Pa? Better to let some steam out of the kettle than to get burned when things boil over.

  Still, Theodore’s judgmental attitude stuck in Tad’s craw. Rebecca had taken charge and helped Bowe, despite her discomfort with her surroundings. She’d shown fortitude, and he couldn’t help but admire it.

  “Don’t you care about what folks think of you, Rebecca?” Theodore’s shout reached Tad’s retreating ears, making him stop again. “Your reputation’s already questionable, seeing how you’re married to my cousin instead of me. Sleeping in his room at the boardinghouse. Now you smell like a saloon after touching that—jackanapes. People’ll think you’re—”

  Vision swimming gray, Tad turned on his heel and stomped into the storeroom before whatever vile word on Theodore’s tongue spewed out. “Watch your tongue, Theodore.”

  Theodore spun, his face purpling. “Eavesdropping, Tad? That’s low, even for you.”

  “You heard all that?” Rebecca’s hands went to her mouth.

  “The door’s wide open.” And she had nothing to be embarrassed about. Theodore was the one who’d gone too far, starting to insult her like that.

  Theodore barked a phony laugh. “You can’t let me alone, can you?”

  Rebecca groaned. “This isn’t about Tad, Theodore. So Tad, maybe you should leave.”

  Tad shook his head. “Rebecca’s got a reputation, all right, Theodore. As a kind woman who helps folks in need. She did the right thing, and she wasn’t the only lady to do so. Even Mrs. Horner came into Modine’s and pitched in.”

  Theodore scowled. “Jolene Horner is a widow woman, not an unmarried gal. Besides, this is none of your business.”

  “Enough.” Rebecca’s hands rose in front of her. “We’re all tired and agitated, and we should wait to speak until we’re all more ourselves.”

  Herself, as she was, was just fine, but Theodore was too muleheaded to see it. Tad bit back the words, though. She was right. Tempers were high and he’d say something he’d regret.

  “I’m going to the livery.”

  “And I’ll go back to Mrs. Horner’s and change out of this dress.” Rebecca lifted her arm as if to sniff her sleeve.

  “Um, you might want to wait on that, Rebecca.” Corny’s face peeked between the curtain separating the storeroom from the mercantile, her face flush. Clearly, she’d heard everything, too.

  The way they’d been talking, Tad had assumed the mercantile was closed. Maybe they had closed it and Corny’s appearance was a surprise, because Rebecca paled and Theodore turned a darker shade of violet.

  Tad kicked himself for raising his voice earlier, but he seemed to be the only one who had one left, since Rebecca and Theodore said nothing. “Corny, this isn’t the best time—”

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca.” Corny beckoned with her hand, eyes wide. “There’s another man out here who says he’s got a claim on you.”

  All the blood that heated Rebecca’s cheeks drained to her feet in a rush, leaving her tingly limbed and light-headed. A man in the mercantile, claiming her as his…what? “I beg your pardon?”

  She’d thought Cornelia
was past her tricks. After all the hours sewing, the evenings growing together as friends, now this?

  Theodore didn’t spare her a glance when he pushed past her to Cornelia. “Who is he?”

  “Never seen him before, but I came back for some more thread and he followed me in, saying he’s here for his Rebecca. That makes three menfolk with some sort of claim on her.”

  Theodore’s jaw clenched. Tad covered his eyes with his hand.

  Enough. “No one has a claim on me, and I don’t have three menfolk.” Rebecca pushed through the curtain.

  A lean man held one of Theodore’s prized coffee grinders. A hat disguised his hair, but his shoulders were broad and his arms long under an unfamiliar patched brown coat. Who did he think he was, telling Cornelia she was his? Her hands fisted on her hips. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I sure hope so.” He set down the grinder, turned, and stretched out his arms.

  She squealed and ran into them. “Johnny!”

  Her brother spun her in circles until she was dizzy. He stank of dirt and sweat, but she didn’t care. She stank, too. She kissed his stubble-rough cheeks.

  “See?” Cornelia’s tone was icy. “She does have three menfolk.”

  “Four, if you count Ulysses,” Tad said. His arm extended to Johnny. “Welcome, Mr. Rice. We’ve heard plenty about you. I know it means a lot to Rebecca to have you here.”

  With one arm still around her, Johnny pumped Tad’s hand. “I can tell from that smile that you’re the happy fellow who married my sister. Nice to meet you, Theodore.”

  Tad’s grin faltered. Rebecca slipped from Johnny’s hold and reached for Theodore’s stiff arm. “Johnny, this is Theodore. My fiancé.”

  Corny stepped forward. “I’m Cornelia Cook, and that’s Tad, her husband.”

  “Long story.” Tad actually looked sheepish, but that was preferable to Theodore’s glower.