Ruby

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  But when he rode off—alone, as always—she could no longer hide her tears.

  “What is this? Is my baby crying?” Madeline St. Jacque caught her daughter’s chin as the girl tried to hide her tears. “Did you fall? Are you ill, child?”

  Ruby pulled away, embarrassed at having been caught in a rare display of weakness. “It is nothing, Mama.”

  “Nothing?” Madeline watched as her daughter struggled to compose herself. “I think not. Now, tell me.”

  But Ruby couldn’t tell her mother about the things that were said-behind her back. To do so would be to break her poor mother’s heart.

  As if reading her mind, Madeline said, “Ignore what others say, Ruby. What do they know? Your papa and I love each other and we both love you. That is all that matters. And we are rich in love.”

  “If Papa loves us,” Ruby persisted, “why does he live in Texas, while we. remain here in the bayou?”

  “Because,” Madeline said patiently. She had said this hundreds of times, until she had almost convinced herself, if not her daughter. “Life here, simple as it is, seems better than living in some primitive wilderness.” She wrinkled her pretty little nose. “As I have told your papa, I am a genteel woman, Ruby. I deserve better than that.”

  “But Papa—”

  “Papa loves us. You will see. In time, he will come to his senses and make his home here with us.”

  “But he told you he must earn his livelihood in Texas, Mama. Why won’t you believe him?”

  Madeline merely smiled her mysterious woman’s smile. “Onyx Jewel will come around in time, chérie. You will see. Remember this always. The wise woman does not bend. If someone bends, it must be your papa. He loves us too much to live without us. In the meantime, we will hold our heads high and ignore the taunts of others.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “What do those fools know?”

  What, indeed? Ruby thought. But when her mother walked away, fanning herself in the heat, the cruel taunts of Sister Clothilde and her classmates crept back into her thoughts.

  To escape the pain, Ruby concentrated on the image of her handsome father, and his life in that strange place called Texas. One day she would go there with him. And then everything would be different. Life in Texas would be perfect.

  Chapter One

  Hanging Tree, Texas

  1870

  "You move a muscle, Marshal, and it’ll be the last you’ll ever move.” The gunman holding a pistol to Marshal Quent Regan’s temple motioned to his brother. “Get his gun, Ward.”

  “Why can’t you do it, Boyd?”

  The older brother swore loudly, fiercely. “Because it’s my gun aimed at him, you coward. And my whip wrapped around him. The least you can do is take his gun.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Boyd swore again. “The damned fool can’t even move. How can you be afraid of him?”

  “’Cause he’s still got that gun at his hip, that’s why. There’s nobody faster in all of Texas than Marshal Regan. Just ask the Bruebaker brothers. They’re both dead. And they both had their guns trained on him.”

  The gunman brandished his weapon. “I’m sick of your babbling. We’re not the damned sniveling Bruebakers. We’re the Barlows. And soon everybody’s going to know about us. Now, get his gun.”

  Ward crept closer, all the while keeping a careful watch on the man with the badge. His hand snaked out and he slid the marshal’s gun from its holster. As soon as he had it, he took several quick steps backward.

  “Now what are you going to do, Marshal?” Boyd taunted.

  Quent Regan’s eyes narrowed. The sleeves of his coat were torn and blood soaked where the whip had bitten through the cushion of fabric to tear away his flesh. The ambush had been carefully planned, giving him no chance to escape. “This is your hand, Boyd. Go ahead and play it.”

  “Oh, I’ll play it, all right.” The gunman’s weapon fairly shook with excitement. “I’m about to kill the meanest, toughest lawman in Texas. Maybe in all the West. You know how many men are going to look up to me when this is over?”

  “You’ll probably find a couple.”

  “More like hundreds, I’d say. Every outlaw from here to St. Louis is going to be looking to shake my hand.”

  Seeing the way the gunman was enjoying himself, the marshal said, “Oh, they’ll congratulate you. Then they’ll stalk you, just the way you stalked me. So they can brag about killing the man who killed Marshal Quent Regan. But, hell, Boyd, it’ll be worth it, won’t it? I mean, everybody will know your name. At least for a few weeks, until the next slimy coward comes along to make a name for himself.”

  “He’s right,” Ward muttered. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting a blaze of gunfire at any moment. “They’ll be gunnin’ for us, Boyd.”

  “You shut your mouth. He’s just trying to spook us.” Boyd cocked his pistol and reached out with his other hand to snatch the shiny badge pinned to the marshal’s cowhide jacket. “You won’t be needing this.”

  “And you will?” Quent Regan’s voice was carefully controlled, betraying none of the emotion churning in his gut. In all the years he’d worn that badge, it had been hit with gunfire, sullied with the mud of battles and the blood of outlaws. But until today it had never left its place of honor over his heart.

  “Always wanted one of these shiny tin badges.” Boyd shoved it into his pocket. “How about you, Ward? What do you want?”

  When the younger brother said nothing, Boyd taunted, “Come on. He’s not going to have any use for his things.” He glanced down. “How about his boots?”

  “They’re nice,” Ward admitted. “I guess I could use ’em. And the jacket, too.”

  “See there, Marshal? Looks like you’re going to die naked.” Boyd jammed his gun hard against the marshal’s temple. “We’ll take the jacket first.”

  Quent glanced down. “I seem to be restrained at the moment. Would you mind removing your whip?”

  “Don’t do it,” Ward called. “I don’t trust him.”

  “You shut your mouth.” Boyd uncoiled the barbed strips of rawhide that had become his trademark.

  When he was free, Quent reached a hand to the buttons of his coat, and Boyd jolted back, bringing both hands to his weapon.

  The marshal gave him a cool, appraising look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m not scared. Not of you. Just cautious.” The gunman swaggered a bit, to prove to his brother that he was still in control. “Now, take off the coat, nice and slow.”

  Quent did as he was told. When it dropped to the ground, Boyd picked it up and tossed it to his brother. “Sorry about the blood, Ward. But it’ll still keep you warm. Now the boots, Marshal.”

  “Might take some doing.” Quent motioned toward a nearby rock. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Not at all. But make it quick.” Boyd followed, keeping his pistol aimed at the marshal’s head.

  Quent sat and started working his foot out of the first boot. While he did, he assessed the situation. The younger brother, Ward, should be easy. As far as Quent knew, he hadn’t killed anyone. That meant he’d be reluctant to start with a lawman. Besides, he was already distracted, trying on the jacket. But the older one, Boyd, was another matter. He’d already killed six people that Quent knew of. And maybe more that he hadn’t heard of. That made this outlaw two things. Dangerous and desperate. What was worse, he was proud of his record as a killer, and was hoping to enhance it by adding a lawman to his list of victims. Boyd Barlow was a man who enjoyed killing.

  As he reached into the second boot, Quent’s fingers closed around the extra gun he always carried.

  . He needed to keep these two talking.

  “You intend to wear that badge?” he asked.

  “Damned right” Boyd withdrew the badge from his pocket and began to pin it over his chest. “Why, with this tin star I’ll be able to ride right up to any ranch and get invited in for supper.” He threw back his head and laughed. “They’ll think t
hey’re feeding a damned lawman. And then, when they’re relaxed, I’ll just help myself to the rancher’s wife, and maybe even his kids, before I kill ’em all.”

  “That’s a good one, Boyd.” Ward threw back his head and roared at the thought of his brother posing as a lawman.

  The two brothers had identical high-pitched laughs that scraped over the nerves. Both were lean and lanky, with long blond hair and reddish mustaches that drooped over their mouths.

  “Yeah. Real funny.” Quent knew there wouldn’t be time to aim. But he hoped to be able to take down one of them. At least that would even the odds.

  Using his boot to shield the gun from view, he squeezed the trigger. The first shot slammed into Ward.

  Startled, the gunman spun away, one arm still fumbling with the sleeve of the jacket. Then he dropped to his knees, holding his chest.

  On the other side of the rock, Boyd dropped to the ground and took careful aim at the marshal.

  Only his quick reflexes saved Quent’s life. He flattened himself behind the rock and counted the shots as they ricocheted around him.

  “Boyd. Help me, Boyd. I’ve been hit.”

  Ward’s cries brought another hail of gunfire from his brother’s gun, but from a different location.

  Quent Regan gritted his teeth, waiting for the volley to end, wondering how much more ammunition the gunman carried, and where he’d head next.

  He peered around the rock. Ward lay on the ground, an ever-widening pool of blood spilling from the wound in his chest.

  “I’m dyin’, Boyd. I’m...”

  In the eerie silence that followed, Boyd’s voice rang out. “Don’t you touch him. Don’t you touch my brother.”

  “You fool. You want him to die?” Quent waited, hoping his words would bring the older brother out of hiding.

  “I swear to you,” came Boyd’s strangled voice, “if he’s dead, so are you. Do you hear me, lawman? Any man who kills my brother, he has to pay the same price.”

  Quent gauged the location of Boyd’s voice, then checked the bullets in his gun, before leaping to his feet and firing.

  The spot where Boyd had taken cover was empty. The gunman had managed to slip away again.

  Quent turned at the sound of hooves and watched in disgust as horse and rider disappeared into a line of trees. He’d already sprinted to his horse and vaulted into the saddle, prepared to give chase, when he heard Ward’s voice.

  “Water,” Ward called in a trembling voice.

  Quent Regan swore. There was no time to waste. If he didn’t catch Boyd now, by this time tomorrow he could be anywhere, from Mexico to Indian Territory. Wearing a marshal’s badge. Preying on innocent people.

  With another vicious oath, he slid from the saddle and removed his canteen.

  Hours later, when Ward Barlow had finally given up his life, Quent removed his jacket from the body and slipped it on. That done, he caught up the reins of the two horses and prepared to head for town.

  As he rode, Marshal Quent Regan rubbed at the crusted blood of his wounds and thought about his pledge to keep this little section of Texas safe for all the people who called it home.

  Sometimes it exacted a high price indeed.

  “Oh, Papa.” Ruby Jewel knelt beside her father’s grave and crossed herself, then whispered a little prayer. “You know I’m happy to be here in Texas. But my heart is heavy because it was your death that brought me to your home.”

  She touched a hand to the mound of earth beside her father’s grave. “I hope you’ll forgive me in time, Mama, for having your remains brought here. I know you would have preferred an elegant marble crypt at your beloved cathedral in Bayou Rouge, where you would have heard the familiar strains of the choir lifted in hymns of praise. But here you can enjoy a different kind of choir, Mama. The sigh of the wind. The mournful cry of a coyote. The call of an eagle. Besides—” Her voice caught in her throat and she had to swallow hard before she could go on. “It comforts me to know that you and Papa are together at last. It’s all I ever wanted, you see. The three of us together. A normal family, like the others in Bayou Rouge.”

  To chase away her melancholy mood, she began chattering in a mixture of English, French and Cajun as she dug in to the pocket of her gown and began laying out an assortment of colorful beads. “I’ve brought you something to cheer you, Mama. I know how much you always loved pretty things.” A sly smile touched her lips. “A peddler came to town offering the townspeople shabby wares. I saw him cheating a sweet old lady, the widow Purdy. Would you believe? He was selling vile-smelling bottles of creek water and dried weeds, and trying to pass them off as beauty creams and elixirs. But when I pointed out what they were, he denied it. And as he took her money he was most rude. So Mama—” she wrinkled her nose, as her pretty mama always had “—I had my petit vengeance.”

  She held the beads up to the light, watching the way they glittered and gleamed. “Which one do you like best?”

  As if actually hearing her mother’s voice, she chose a string of deep purple glass and laid it over Madeline’s grave. “You’re right, of course. This one suits you. If you don’t mind, I’ll save the test for Diamond, Pearl and Jade.”

  At the mention of their names her smile deepened. “Oh, Papa, I was so hurt at first when I discovered that you had other daughters. Hurt and disappointed. But now I am learning to care for them. Sisters.” Her laughter was as fresh and lilting as a child’s. “Mon Dieu. Who would have believed I would discover sisters? And because they now have husbands. I find myself with three brothers, as well.” She clapped her hands together, as she often did when she was delighted. “Adam, Cal and Dan are all so handsome. And kind. And they make my sisters so happy.”

  A long sigh escaped her lips, though she wasn’t aware of it. “I am happy for them. But sad for myself. They are all so busy and active. Diamond and Adam have their ranch, which they work together. And, of course, the baby that will soon be born. Pearl has found so much love with Cal, and is teaching the town’s children. And they are so pleased with Gil and Daniel, the two boys they have adopted. And Jade and her beloved reverend are so busy being an inspiration to everyone in Hanging Tree, they barely have time to eat or sleep.” Ruby bit her lip. “My life, compared with theirs, is rather meaningless. But what can I possibly do here in Texas? The only things I know are silly and frivolous. The good sisters despaired of ever teaching me much of anything. Except Sister Dominique, of course. It was she who took the time to teach me how to sew a fine seam.”

  She stood and shook the dust from her elegant red satin gown. “Oh, Mama, you must be ashamed of the way I look. But there are few frocks of beauty in Hanging Tree. I was so desperate for a new dress, I had to send for a bolt of fabric from St. Louis and make my own. Pity the poor women who cannot sew, or who have no time for such luxuries. They are at the mercy of Rufus Durfee, whose ready-made dresses are not even fit for working the fields.”

  The words she had just spoken struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. “Dieu! But of course!” The words tumbled from her lips in a torrent, as they always did when she was excited. “Here I have been wondering what I could do to fill my days in this strange place. Why not busy myself with the things I love? Oh, Papa. Oh, Mama. If I were to open a little dressmaking shop, I could not only have the lovely things I crave, but I could also fill a real need for the others in the town.”

  She lifted her skirts and twirled around and around. “I would no longer feel different. Like Diamond, Pearl and Jade, I would have something to offer the people of your town, Papa.”

  She blew a kiss toward the graves. “Forgive me, Mama and Papa. I must bid you adieu and hurry to make arrangements.”

  Leaving the purple beads on the grave, she stuffed the others into her pocket and climbed into the rig. With a flick of the reins, she headed toward the ranch in the distance, her mind already racing through details.

  Ruby Jewel had never been noted for her reticence. And now, the very thought of beginni
ng her new project had her energized. Thank heaven her papa had left a considerable estate. Of course, it was not hers for the taking. But if her sisters approved her project, she could begin at once.

  She would need a building in town, where she could display her wares and attract customers. And she would have to send for exotic fabrics. Not the drab gingham and homespun found at Durfee’s Mercantile. Non. She would offer the women of Hanging Tree silks and satins and feathered bonnets. As a new thought struck, she laughed aloud. Perhaps she would whip up some of Mama’s balm, as well, and sell it in little vials. After all, her mother’s smooth, unlined skin had been the envy of every woman in Bayou Rouge.

  She touched a hand to her own skin, so like her mother’s. Didn’t the women of Hanging Tree deserve better? Especially since they were at the mercy of the unrelenting Texas sun?

  Oh, her heart was racing as frantically as the horse and cart. For the first time since her arrival in this barren Texas wilderness, she was beginning to believe she had found a way to fit in. Not only with the people in the town, but with the strangers who had become her family. Her sisters and their husbands would be so proud of her.

  Best of all, she would be doing something that gave her a sense of pride, as well. And there had been little enough of that in Ruby’s young life.

  Chapter Two

  Marshal Quent Regan was feeling mean. Mean and ugly. In his left hand were the reins of the horse trailing his own, bearing Ward Barlow’s body. He’d gone twenty-four hours without sleep. He rubbed his raw, bloody arm. It hurt like hell, adding to his temper. Worst of all, Boyd Barlow was out there somewhere, armed with a badge, endangering others.

  Would the outlaw hightail it out of Texas? Or would he hide out, hoping to make good on his threat for revenge?

  Quent’s thoughts were as dark as the clouds scudding overhead.