Читать книгу Sequins and Spurs - Cheryl St. John - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Nash’s hands had gone numb before he’d had the sense to hobble to his feet and bash the chair against the cast-iron stove.

Mad enough to spit fire, he’d stormed through the house, finding that Ruby was gone. Finally, belly rumbling, he made himself something to eat. He figured as soon as it was daylight, she’d want to prove his story true or false and make her way to the grave markers. He pumped water, lit the stove and put the coffeepot on to boil.

He’d downed two cups before she returned.

Her appearance was startling. The front of her suede skirt was blotched dark. Not only did she look disheveled and exhausted, but her nose and eyes were red and puffy. Her hair looked as though she’d crawled backward though a bramble bush.

“So you’re Ruby.”

At the sound of his voice, she started and turned to where he sat.

“You’re not what I expected.”

She looked toward the coffeepot, shuffled to the cupboard for a cup and poured it half-full. Easing onto a chair at the opposite end of the table, she took a sip and met his eyes. “How did my mother die?”

Her voice was even raspier now.

He drew a breath and released it. “About five years ago the doctor said her heart was weak and that she needed to take life easy. Everything made her tired. She was pretty feeble.” He picked up his cup, but then set it back down. “A Cheyenne woman from nearby made her teas and poultices, and for a spell they seemed to help. At first she’d sit on the porch or in the rocker in the parlor, but eventually she couldn’t go up or down the stairs. She stayed in her room, mostly.”

Ruby kept her focus on the cup in her hand, obviously absorbing his words with great difficulty.

“Pearl took care of her,” he added.

Ruby’s gaze flickered to his momentarily. He could make this easier on her, but he wanted her to know how hard it had been on his wife—on the whole family. He needed Ruby to see how her irresponsibility had been a burden. He didn’t want it to be easy for her.

She stared into her coffee for a long time before raising her eyes. “You said Pearl died before Mama.”

He nodded.

“Who took care of my mother after that?”

“My mother came as often as she could. And Little Bird, the Cheyenne woman I told you about. Between the two of them and some of the ladies from church, we kept her as comfortable as we could.”

Ruby didn’t shed a tear now, but it was plain she’d done plenty of crying before coming back to the house. Her fingers trembled on the handle of the cup, and she quickly moved her hand to her lap.

Had she thought she would come back after all this time and everything would be as she’d left it? “Where were you in April?” he asked.

She appeared to think a moment. “Chicago.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Theater.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Acting?”

She nodded. “Singing.”

He couldn’t imagine that unusual, sandpapery voice of hers lifted in song. “Singing on a stage...in front of people?”

“That’s right.”

“They paid?”

“That’s how singers make a living.” She flattened her hands on the table. “Look, I know I wasn’t here for either of them. I should have come back a long time ago, but...but I didn’t. I sent Mama money every month.”

“You could have visited. Written at least.”

“I sent a couple of letters. I’m not much for writing.”

“Pearl needed help,” he said. “She took care of everyone and the house all by herself till she died.”

“I’m sorry.” Ruby set her mouth in a straight line.

“Sorry doesn’t fix eight years of neglect.”

She stared at her cup. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Did you get letters from your mother?”

“A few, but I never stayed in one place long.”

“Too busy to come visit, were you?”

“I had my reasons.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Stage performers didn’t have the best reputations. Not that he knew the sordid details, but he could imagine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. “I have to get out to the stock. Thanks to you, I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” she said. “And for...” She gestured to his head. “Hitting you with the skillet.”

“You could’ve killed me.” He got up and set his cup near the sink basin, noting for the first time that all the other dirty cups he’d left there were gone. He paused. “What’s your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I have to figure that out.”

“You plannin’ to stay here?”

“This is my home.”

He said nothing. Didn’t look at her again, just walked out the back door and closed it firmly behind him. He felt half-sick at the thought of her being here. He hoped she’d be gone when he came back. He had enough people to take care of, and sufficient worries on his mind already. He didn’t need her adding to his problems.

In the back of his mind was concern for the ranch he’d worked so hard to build. He’d sacrificed time with his wife and family to make it a success. Ruby hadn’t been in the picture then, but now...now she’d likely lay her claim.

She hadn’t stuck around before. To protect his children’s inheritance and his investment in the land, he could probably convince her to take off again. Or wait her out.

* * *

Ruby headed out to the coop and gathered eggs. She found a ham in the pantry, cut off a slice and fried it with the eggs. The whole time she used the skillet, she thought about what she’d done to her newfound brother-in-law. Her mother had always said she acted before she thought things through, and as much as Ruby had hated hearing it, that remained a fact. She gave herself the excuse of fearing a robber, and cast her blunder aside.

A hot meal in her stomach felt good. After washing the dishes, she heated more water and searched until she found a copper tub on the back porch. She dragged it into the kitchen, filled it and then slid the bolt on the back door before washing her hair and bathing.

The hot water soothed her aching muscles. But relaxing in such a way caused her to let her guard down, and she sat in the steaming tub and sobbed until the water cooled and her fingers and toes wrinkled.

She would never see Mama again. Never hear her laugh or see her smile. Ruby had missed her opportunity to hug her sister and tell her she loved her. She’d lost everything dear to her. Lost everything she’d turned her back on, her pitiless conscience taunted. Everything she’d run away to escape.

If her mother and sister had been so dear, why had she taken off and not returned for so long? That’s what Nash would ask her. That’s what anyone would want to know. She’d asked herself a hundred times, but she still couldn’t explain.

She’d been close to her father. They had been very alike, she guessed. He’d been the one person she could talk to, confide in. After he’d left without notice, she’d been bitter and angry. Her heartbreak had been disguised in rebellion and resentment. Her mother had relentlessly nagged and insisted Ruby attend church with her.

Ruby had hated sitting in church. Everyone there was looking at them and pitying them because of her father’s desertion. And all her mother had to say about his absence was that God was taking care of them. God hadn’t lifted a finger to keep Abe Dearing on that farm—and after he was gone, God hadn’t put food on their table or shoes on their feet.

At sixteen, Ruby had been fed up with rules and restrictions, weary of her mother’s constant admonitions. Ruby had packed a bag and caught a train.

She’d been proud. Self-reliant. Adventurous.

Impetuous. Foolish.

Lonely.

More tired than she’d ever been in her life, Ruby stood, dried herself and then dressed in a wrinkled skirt and shirtwaist from her bag. She couldn’t deal with emptying the tub at the moment, so she left it and climbed the stairs.

She chose the room that used to be hers, though the only familiar furnishing was the bed. After setting the doll aside, she opened the window for fresh air and pulled down the spread, climbing between the sheets and closing her eyes.

The best thing that could happen would be to sleep for days, wake up and find this had all been a nightmare.

* * *

Nash’s head ached so fiercely he left the hired men mending fence and rode northeast to a strip of land near the river that nestled between the Lazy S and the Sommerton property, where his father owned and operated a grain mill.

Little Bird’s husband had left her the strip of land, and she had remained after his death. There was nothing conventional about the landscape or the cabin. Wooden slews carried water to thriving herb and vegetable gardens that stretched toward the river.

Cages had been built against a squat, bare-wood barn, and at any given time half of them contained birds or small animals in various stages of treatment and healing. Frames made of willows and small saplings held curing hides. Peculiar scents of distilling syrups and natural cures permeated the air.

At his approach, a slender figure in a simple fawn-colored dress and moccasins moved forward from one of the gardens. She was a handsome woman, probably a good ten years older than himself, and she’d been a good friend to his family. Her hair was plaited into two long braids that didn’t show a strand of gray.

“Nash Sommerton,” she called, one hand raised in greeting.

He slid from his horse. “Little Bird.”

She held the back of her hand to his horse’s muzzle. Boone inhaled her scent and pressed his nose to her chest. “He says there is much confusion in your heart today.”

“I don’t know about that, but there’s a mighty powerful pain in my head.”

“Come,” she said, and gestured. “Sit by the fire and I’ll make you tea.”

He’d been inside the cabin a time or two, but Little Bird preferred to greet and treat her patients out of doors.

He took a seat on one of the slabs of rock situated around a fire pit. She added a chunk of wood before coming to stand behind him. Her deft fingers found the knot on the back of his head. “Did you fall?”

Nash held back a groan. “Not until after the iron skillet struck me.”

“I sense it was not an accident.”

“No. Pearl’s sister meant to put me out of commission.”

“I haven’t heard news of Pearl’s sister. She is visiting?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing besides knocking me senseless. She just showed up last night.”

Little Bird headed for the cabin. While he waited, a squirrel scampered close and leaped to perch on its hind legs on another slab of stone. The beady-eyed little creature stared at him curiously. It watched when the woman returned with a wooden tray and a small pouch.

She took a pan from a pile of utensils beside the fire, poured water from a gourd pitcher and added dried leaves. She measured out and added several drops of a tincture before setting the pan over the fire.

While that heated, she made a poultice. “Lean forward.” She separated his hair and pressed the warm compress to his scalp. “The arrival of Pearl’s sister was unexpected.”

He didn’t reply. It pained him to think how much Pearl had missed that undeserving woman, longed for her return.

“Laura Dearing often spoke of her.”

“Pearl, too.” He probably knew everything about the two of them as children, because his wife had shared it all. There were so many times she’d needed her sister. He couldn’t understand Ruby’s selfishness.

“You’re angry she left her family behind to seek her way. I, too, left my family when I married William McLeod. I haven’t seen them for many years.”

“That’s different. You left to marry. Ruby didn’t marry or start her own family. She just ran off.”

“Pearl’s sister had no way of knowing her mother would become ill.”

“She’d have known if she’d stuck around. Or come back once or twice. My head feels better already.”

“Hold the compress in place while I pour your tea and cool it.”

He did as instructed. His neighbor ladled greenish liquid into a gourd dipper, added cool water and handed it to him. “Drink it all at once. Don’t stop to take a breath.”

He found out right off why she’d told him not to stop. The bitter tea tasted awful. He finished it and shuddered.

“Saint Anthony’s fire,” she told him. “Tastes bad, but will stop the pain in your head.”

He trusted her. Once when his mother had experienced some sort of female infirmity, Little Bird’s remedy had fixed her good as new. The woman had cured one of his father’s mill workers from palsy in his hands, and last winter she’d made Nash an ointment for his cracked and bleeding knuckles that had healed them right up. “Yes, ma’am.”

He went to his horse and opened the saddlebag to take out a sack of sugar. Little Bird never accepted cash, but she always appreciated items she didn’t grow or gather herself. He carried the sugar to the doorstep and set it down.

“Thank you, Nash Sommerton.”

“It’s I who am indebted.” He took his hat from the pommel of his saddle and settled it on his head.

“We must travel our own paths,” she said. “Some try to tell us which turns to take and how fast to walk. But in the end it’s our journey, and we must make it alone.”

“Are you trying to tell me something about my wife’s sister?”

“I’m suggesting you don’t draw conclusions without all the information.”

He had plenty of information. All of it incriminating where Ruby was concerned.

Little Bird raised her hand in farewell. Nash tipped his hat and headed back to the ranch.

Approaching the stables, he glanced toward the house, and his heart skipped a beat. Sheets and pillowcases flapped on the clothesline in the sunlight, a sight he painfully associated with his wife. But of course it hadn’t been Pearl’s hands who’d hung the bedding. Dressed in a plain brown skirt splotched with water and with her sleeves rolled back, Ruby lugged a washtub to the side of the porch and dumped it out onto the parched lilac bush.

She wiped her forehead with her wrist and glanced in his direction.

Even from this distance, the differences between her and his wife were glaring. He’d never seen Pearl looking disheveled, not even on wash day.

Ruby set down the tub and wiped her hands on her skirt. Then she walked to the stairs and descended, heading toward him.

He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to see her. She stirred up too many feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

She approached to within several feet and stopped. “How’s your head?”

“I’ll live.”

“I said I was sorry.”

He said nothing.

“I was wondering about something. I noticed a couple of men coming and going from the stable and the barn.”

He narrowed his gaze warily. “Yeah?”

“Could they help me for a short time tomorrow, so I can move out the furniture to clean the rugs and wax the floors?”

“My hands aren’t maids,” he replied. What was she trying to prove by cleaning the house? It was a little late to show up and pitch in now.

She set her hands on her hips and fixed him with an exasperated glare. “I didn’t ask for a maid. I asked for strong backs.” She glanced toward the barn. “Never mind. I’ll handle it on my own.”

She turned and headed toward the house. The sun caught in her crazy hair and set the golden curls ablaze. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Everything about her made him ache. His heart, his head...

A sound caught his attention.

* * *

Ruby shaded her eyes and discovered a black buggy drawn by a single horse moving toward them. Behind it a trail of dust rose into the air. “Company?” she asked.

Nash had turned to view the approaching conveyance as well. He slid his hat back on his head, revealing a strong profile and lean jaw. Ruby glanced from him to the buggy. His expression didn’t give away his thoughts.

“Do you know who it is?”

“I know.” He moved toward the lane.

She followed at a distance, straining to see the driver, who turned out to be a woman in a blue dress and a wide-brimmed hat with matching silk flowers and ribbons. She guided the horse to a stop.

Nash took the reins, pulled the brake and wrapped the leather around the handle. The woman gracefully accepted his help and he lowered her to the ground.

She wasn’t alone. Two children crowded forward to be lifted down, but instead of placing the little girl on her feet, Nash enveloped her in a hug. With a gleeful cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her stockinged legs around his waist.

The smaller child, a boy in a pressed shirt and suspenders, jumped up and down impatiently.

Finally, Nash placed the girl on the ground and the boy leaped into his arms. “Papa! Papa!”

His cheerful cries penetrated Ruby’s confusion.

Papa?

The woman turned toward Ruby, her expression curious. She was lovely, with dark winged brows, high cheekbones and glowing olive skin. She took in Ruby’s hair and clothing before settling her attention on her face. Recognition dawned in her warm brown eyes and she asked, “Are you going to introduce us, Nash?”

“This is Laura’s other daughter.” He glanced at Ruby. “My mother, Georgia Sommerton.”

“I thought so.” Georgia extended a slender hand. “I remember you, Ruby.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course. You were an adventurous child, as I recall.”

“I suppose so,” she said, still distracted by the boy’s exclamation. Now the woman’s resemblance to Nash jumped out at her: her black hair and dark eyes...her defined cheekbones. Ruby studied the sturdily built little boy in Nash’s arms. He had the same dark hair and winged brows.

The girl, however, was fair and slender, with radiant skin and shining pale ringlets that hung to her shoulders. She lifted her curious gaze, and Ruby’s heart stopped.

Studying the child was like looking at her sister years ago. Her eyes were the same bright cornflower blue, her expression solemn and wary. With a small hand, she reached to grasp her grandmother’s fingers. Apparently the doll and the clothing in the drawers in Ruby’s old room belonged to this child.

Captivated, Ruby stared. Unexpected tender feelings brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back and retained her composure. The oppressive ache that had been a weight on her heart since the day before eased, and an unfamiliar joy rose inside her.

She tore her gaze back to the smaller child, keen to recognize a similarity to her sister. Nash’s hair...his eyes....

“Who is she, Papa?” he asked.

There it was. The shape of his lips...the tilt of his nose. Elation lifted Ruby’s spirits. She shot her attention to the surly man holding the little boy and pierced him with a glare. “Why didn’t you tell me?”