Ruby

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “Thank you.” Ruby helped herself to one and passed the basket to Quent.

  “Chicken, Miss Ruby?” Tall, mannerly Gordon actually ladled a piece of chicken onto her plate.

  “My, these dumplings sure do look good, Miss Ruby. Will you have some?” Willie, toothless and skinny as a fence rail, held the platter for her.

  “Merci,” she purred.

  Birdie stood at one end of the table, removing serving dishes as they were emptied and returning to the kitchen for refills.

  “I made enough for everyone,” Millie cautioned as Birdie returned with another platter of chicken.

  Millie, a pretty young widow, was neat as a pin, and kept her boardinghouse in perfect order. Her reputation as a fine cook earned her enough money to raise her three little daughters.

  The large wood table had been set with Millie’s collection of mismatched dishes and crockery. Despite an occasional crack in a cup, or chip in a plate, everything was clean and colorful, like their owner.

  On a sideboard holding an assortment of desserts was a vase of wildflowers, adding their perfume to air already sweet with the fragrance of apples and cinnamon.

  “Where are April, May and June?” Quent asked as he reached for a steaming biscuit.

  “The girls are at school.” Millie filled his cup with coffee, then moved around the table topping off the rest. “They’ll be sorry they missed you, Quent. They love your silly jokes and teasing.”

  Ruby glanced at him in surprise. It would be easier to imagine the marshal engaged in a gunfight with a dozen outlaws than to picture him joking and teasing with three little girls.

  “What brings you to town in the middle of the week, Ruby?” Millie, ever the proper hostess, set a glass of lemonade in front of her.

  Ruby sipped gratefully. “I was here to meet with my banker and Farley Duke about building my new shop.”

  “Shop?” Millie paused on her way back to the kitchen. “What sort of shop?”

  “A dressmaker shop.”

  “Who’s going to work it?” Millie asked.

  Ruby arched a brow. “Why, I am.”

  “You?” Millie’s eyes widened. “You can sew?”

  “Of course.” Ruby set down her glass and met the surprised looks of those around the table. “Why do so many people find this difficult to believe? I was taught to sew all my own clothes when I was a girl.” She touched a napkin to her lips, then, noting the hole in it, added, “Why, I could even make you a fine new lace tablecloth and matching napkins.”

  Millie’s chores were suddenly forgotten. She walked back to the table and paused beside Ruby. “Lace?” She spoke the word with a trace of reverence, as though it were magic. “Really?”

  Ruby nodded. “And if you’d like, I could add matching lace curtains for the window.”

  Millie glanced toward the window, hung with a pair of simple white cotton panels tied back with faded strips of fabric. “Lace curtains,” she said with a sigh. Then she suddenly shook her head, as though forcing herself back to reality. “I couldn’t possibly afford it.”

  Before she could leave the room Ruby said, “How do you know if you can afford it, when you haven’t heard my price? If you’d like, you could pay me a little at a time, as you earn it.”

  Millie kept her face averted. But it was plain, by her hesitation, that she was doing some heavy calculating. “How soon...?”

  Before she could finish her question, Ruby blurted, “I could start as soon as the lace arrives from San Francisco. Since I’m sending an order by stage tomorrow, you could be enjoying your lovely things within a matter of weeks.”

  “Oh, my.” Millie’s eyes were dancing with pleasure as she turned. “A few weeks? Really?”

  “Oui. Would you care to be my first customer?”

  Millie paused for only a moment before saying softly, “I’ve wanted lace for such a long time now.”

  “After lunch I will measure the table and window and give you a price.”

  Millie nodded. “If I can possibly afford it, I’ll do it.”

  When she made her way to the kitchen to fetch plates for the desserts, there was a new spring to Millie’s step. Behind her, Ruby was so excited she could hardly do more than pick at her food.

  When she turned her head, she realized that Quent was studying her with a strange look on his face.

  “Now what, Marshal?” she said in a undertone. “Are you going to accuse me of taking advantage of my neighbor?”

  “No, ma’am.” His voice was low, for her ears alone. “I was just thinking I’d misjudged you. I believe you may have the makings of a fine businesswoman.”

  She couldn’t imagine why his words warmed her. After all, she didn’t give a care what Marshal Quent Regan thought of her. Still, this simple lunch had taken on a festive note. The men’s jokes were funnier, and the apple pie sweeter. And by the time she’d measured the table and window, and secured an agreement with Millie Potter, Ruby floated out the door on a cloud.

  She lifted her skirts and strolled through town until she came to the stable where she’d left her horse and rig.

  “Afternoon, Miss Ruby.” Neville Oakley, blacksmith and owner of the livery stable, was a giant who stood over six and a half feet and weighed more than 350 pounds. Despite the heat of the day, he was standing in front of a roaring fire, shaping and forging a horseshoe. Rivers of sweat ran down his face and glistened on his bulging forearms.

  The moment he caught sight of Ruby he dropped everything and hurried inside the stable to hitch her horse. Minutes later he emerged into the sunshine leading the horse and rig.

  “Thank you, Mr. Oakley. What do I owe you?”

  “It’s hardly worth a thing, Miss Ruby. You weren’t in town more than half a day.”

  Ruby glanced at this rough man, who seemed to have earned the scorn of most of the town’s citizens. His hair, shaggy and coal black, seemed always plastered to his sweat-stained face. People whispered behind his back. It was said that in his youth he’d been a drunk and a bully, though no one had seen him take a drink in years, and no one could be found who’d ever had the misfortune to fight with him. But in a small town like Hanging Tree, a man’s reputation could be his best friend or his worst enemy. No matter how long he lived, or how well, it seemed impossible to erase the mistakes of his youth. To make matters worse, Neville Oakley presented a truly loathsome image to behold. His clothes were always shabby, his leather apron stained and work worn. He was a man feared by the town’s women and children and avoided by its men.

  From her first introduction to the man, Ruby had felt a kinship with him. She knew what it was to bear the jeers and whispers of others. And she understood the pain of living with a reputation that would not be put to rest.

  She held out a small, linen-clad bundle. “I am sorry, Mr. Oakley. I must insist that you take some payment. After all, my horse did eat your oats and drink your water. And my rig took up space in your barn.”

  “What’s this?” He kept his hands at his sides, refusing to accept her offering.

  “Lunch, Mr. Oakley. From Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse.” Ruby pressed it to his chest and he was forced to accept it or have it fall to the ground.

  He seemed overwhelmed by this unexpected act of kindness. But to make matters worse, Ruby forced a coin into his big palm.

  He took a step back, nearly dropping everything in his haste to avoid touching her. “Careful, ma’am. You’ll get yourself all sweaty and dirty.”

  She smiled. “Dirt washes off, Mr. Oakley. And I admire the sweat of honest labor.”

  When she climbed into her rig and lifted the reins she called, “Good day, Mr. Oakley. Thank you for taking such fine care of my horse and rig. Enjoy your lunch.”

  The big man watched until she drove away. Then he sat down in the shade of a tree and unwrapped the linen as though it were the most cherished gift he’d ever been given. In fact, it was the first gift he could ever recall having been given. He stared at the chicken and f
resh biscuits, drizzled with honey. And at the oversize piece of apple pie. For the longest time he didn’t move. Then, brushing something from his eyes, he began to eat, savoring every morsel.

  Quent emerged from the stable where he’d been saddling his horse. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But now that he had, he was even more confused about Ruby Jewel.

  Did she just have to charm every man she met? Was this why she’d gone out of her way to be kind to Neville Oakley? Or was there more to this young woman than he’d first suspected?

  Damn her. Just when he wanted to dismiss her as a shameless flirt, she had to confound him again.

  He urged his horse into a run. Since he was headed her way, maybe he’d just engage Miss Ruby Jewel in a little conversation. And see what he uncovered.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, Marshal.” Ruby gave a startled glance as Quent pulled up beside her cart. Then her tone hardened. “Are you following me? Because, if you are, I can assure you, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m not following you, Ruby.” He slowed his mount to keep pace with her rig and wondered again at her reaction to him. Was it personal? Or was she reacting to the badge he wore? “I’m heading past your ranch to Widow’s Peak.”

  She visibly relaxed. “I suppose I should be grateful for your company, since I find the long ride tedious.”

  At her admission he said, “Then why don’t you let me handle the reins? That is, if you have no objection.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. Instead, she stopped the horse and slid over to make room for him.

  He tied his mount behind the rig, then climbed aboard and took up the reins.

  “What will you do up at Widow’s Peak?”

  “Study the trails.” He made light of his mission, attempting to put her at ease. “It’s something lawmen like to do.”

  “Why do you study them?”

  “To see how many horses have passed by, and how long ago.”

  “You can tell all this by looking at the ground?”

  He nodded.

  Impressed, she asked, “And what will that tell you?”

  “If there are any strangers in the area.”

  “How long have you been a lawman?”

  “Almost ten years.” He grew thoughtful, staring off into the distance. Had it really been that long? There were days when it seemed like a lifetime ago. At other times, it seemed like only yesterday.

  “What made you decide to wear that badge, Marshal Regan?”

  He smiled then, and she thought how handsome he was when he wasn’t frowning at her. “I guess it was probably decided at birth.”

  At her arched brow, he explained, “My father was a lawman. It just seemed the most natural thing in the world to follow in his footsteps. Of course,” he added softly, “there was a time when it looked like I might end up on the other side of the law. But I finally saw the light, thanks to your father.”

  “You...broke the law?”

  He nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I was young, wild and foolish. And, for a while, angry. A dangerous combination.”

  She tried to picture this lawman on the other side of the law, but it was impossible. “What did my father have to do with your decision?”

  “I guess he saw something in me that I wasn’t able to see in myself. Your father was a remarkable man, Ruby.”

  “Tell me about him,” she said softly.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “I figured Onyx Jewel’s daughter would know him better’n most.”

  She looked away, but not before he saw the pain in her eyes. “I hardly knew my father at all. His visits to Bayou Rouge were brief. And infrequent.”

  Quent didn’t know why, but he wished he could find a way to soothe her. It gave him no pleasure to see pain. Especially in such lovely eyes.

  As the sun dipped below a bank of clouds, Ruby shivered.

  He shot her a glance. “You’re cold.”

  She shook her head, but he ignored her protest and removed his cowhide jacket, wrapping it around her. The heat of his body still lingered in the folds, along with the scent of horse and tobacco. Scents that would always remind Ruby of her father.

  With a sigh she snuggled into the comforting heat. “Merci, Marshal. I am accustomed to the heat of the bayou. I’m not yet used to such abrupt changes in the weather.”

  Quent didn’t know why, but there was something about Ruby Jewel that touched a chord deep inside him. Despite her attempts to appear worldly, he sensed an innocence about her. An innocence and a vulnerability. And more than that, a deep well of sadness. It seemed suddenly important that he put a smile on her lips.

  He lifted a hand to point. “If you want to know your father, look around you, Ruby. For as far as you can see in any direction, it’s Jewel land. There aren’t many men who could have carved all this out of an untamed wilderness. But your pa wasn’t like other men.” His tone warmed, revealing his deep regard. “Onyx Jewel was a legend even before his death at the hands of a coward. Your pa did something no other man did. He tamed this land and made it his home. And afterward, he traveled the world searching for the best cattle, the finest equipment. The folks here in Hanging Tree were grateful that, no matter how far Onyx Jewel went, he always returned home. To the soil. To his roots. To the people who loved and respected him.”

  Ruby was surprised by the depth of emotion revealed in those words. “I didn’t know you cared so deeply for my father.” She tried to be flip, but the words held a brittle edge. “I suppose it’s easier to care for a rich man than a poor one.”

  “I didn’t give a damn about his wealth.” Quent’s tone roughened as he eased the horse and rig into a swollen stream and guided them through the water. “Your pa was a good, decent man. He took the time to care about everybody in Hanging Tree. That says more about a man than the size of his fortune.”

  Ruby arched a brow. “How did he show his concern for the townspeople? What did he do for them?”

  Quent shrugged. “He never talked about it. But I’ve heard stories.”

  “Stories?” She found herself staring at his hands, so strong and sure. So like another’s hands, which had always been surprisingly gentle.

  “Rumors. Repeated over the years. How he forgave debts. How he would order his wranglers to slaughter a heifer and deliver it to a poor widow or struggling rancher. How, after his wife died in childbirth, he sent his ranch foreman East with orders to fetch a doctor for the town, so no other rancher would have to suffer the same loss.”

  Ruby fell silent. Hadn’t Mama told her how tender her father had become when he’d learned that she was having his child? It must have broken his heart when he learned that Madeline would neither marry him nor bring his infant daughter Ruby to live with him in Texas.

  She felt tears sting her eyes, thinking about the pain her father had been forced to bear in stoic silence. Far away in Louisiana, she had thought of him merely as a rich stranger, who could have anything he desired. But now, seeing the primitive land he’d tamed, and the loneliness he must have endured, she felt his pain keenly. For all his wealth and power, he couldn’t have the thing he most wanted. A wife and family around him, to give him love and comfort.

  “Thank you, Marshal. For giving me a glimpse of my father.”

  “You’re like him, you know, Ruby.”

  At the marshal’s words, she turned to him in surprise. “In what way?”

  “You have his enthusiasm for life. And his kindness toward people. All people.”

  “Now, how would you know that?” she asked.

  He shrugged, thinking of what he’d witnessed at the livery. “I’ve seen how you deal with the folks in town. You make time for those the others don’t even notice. That’s a real gift. One that not all people are blessed with.”

  She was deeply moved by his words. “I can’t think of anything that would give me more pride than to be compared favorably with my father,” she murmured. “There haven’t been too many things in my
life to be proud of.”

  “And why is that?”

  She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and turned away. “No reason. I..don’t know why I said that.”

  But Quent wouldn’t let it go. “What is it, Ruby? Why wouldn’t you feel proud to be a Jewel?”

  She swallowed, ashamed at having been trapped by her own words. “In my small town it was common knowledge that my father and mother were unmarried. There were those who never let me forget it.”

  Quent’s jaw clamped tight, and he concentrated on handling the reins. But his heart went out to this young woman beside him. He knew only too well that self-esteem was a precious thing.

  When they made it across the stream, the horse scrambled up the embankment, and the rig tilted precariously for a moment. Quent’s arm closed around Ruby’s shoulders, holding her steady until the rig righted itself. It was a simple gesture, but she found herself trembling at the strength in his touch.

  He suddenly released her and drew hard on the reins, bringing the horse and cart to an abrupt halt. His hand went reflexively to the gun at his hip. Ruby followed the direction of his gaze and saw the darkened outline of a cluster of horsemen galloping toward them at breakneck speed.

  “Who...?” Ruby felt a flash of fear.

  He touched a rough palm to her lips to silence her. “Not a word,” he cautioned.

  In one smooth motion he leapt from the rig and lifted her in his arms. For the space of a heartbeat she felt strangely disoriented, her face inches from his, her breath mingling with his, her heart beating overtime. And then he set her on her feet behind a tree, where she was shielded from danger. And he boldly stepped out, to face alone whatever was to come.

  She studied the broad back, the muscled shoulders. His hand holding the gun was calm, steady. He turned slightly, to assure himself that she was still hidden from view. She caught a glimpse of hard, steely eyes. And the glint of the badge over his heart.