Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John
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They seated themselves and Nash picked up the platter of chicken.
“I never cut up a chicken before,” she apologized. “The pieces look pretty odd.”
“Don’t make much difference to how they taste,” Silas assured her.
“I found some recipes in Mama’s handwriting, but nothing about chicken. I guess most people just know how to cook them and don’t write it down.”
“My mama always says you can’t learn till you try,” Dugger noted, and gave her an appreciative nod.
The beans were still a little hard. She hadn’t quite figured that out, either. But she could make golden, flaky biscuits with one arm tied behind her back. She’d found honey and poured some into a small jar, which she passed around.
The men didn’t complain a whit about the food, eating as though they’d been served a feast. She got up and poured each of them coffee. “I found a jar of peaches for dessert.”
She had sliced peaches portioned into four dishes when she looked up and noted Nash’s expression. He was looking at the jar with a bleak expression. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Were these special? Perhaps I should have asked.”
He reached for his dish. “They’re just peaches.”
Dugger finished first. “Thank you for a fine meal, Miss Dearing.”
The others followed his lead and trailed out the back door. The last one to the door, Nash turned back.
She paused in picking up plates and tentatively met his gaze.
“Thanks.” He shut the door behind him.
“That must’ve pained you,” she said to the closed door. She doggedly washed the dishes, wiped the table and hung the towels to dry, before pouring a pitcher of water and heading upstairs, exhausted.
The silent house yawned in the falling darkness. In her mother’s old room, Ruby stripped off her clothing, washed her face and sponged her body before unfolding a cotton gown and dropping it over her head. She touched the fabric, brought it to her face and inhaled, hoping to find a trace of her mother in its clean folds. The scents of lavender and sunshine were pale reminders. She sat in the corner chair and surveyed the room she’d so carefully scrubbed and waxed.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” The silent room absorbed her voice. “I wanted to make it up to you—all the years I was gone. I hoped you’d forgive me and let me try to start over with both you and Pearl.” Ruby let her gaze touch the molding around the ceiling. “If you missed me half as much as I miss you now, I know how bad it was. I’m glad you had Pearl.”
She didn’t want to think about how hard it must have been on her ill mother when Pearl was killed. “Your room looks real pretty. I’m going to get the rest of the house just the way you like it, too.”
When she could no longer keep her eyes open, Ruby stretched out on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
In the glow of a lantern, Nash opened the stall door and studied the magnificent horse Ruby called the Duchess. It was his job to know horses, and he recognized this breed from a livestock exhibition he’d attended a few years ago. While they weren’t as perfectly proportioned as Thoroughbreds, Barbs were agile and fast, second only to Arabians as one of the oldest breeds in existence. Nash had saved for a long time to buy a Thoroughbred to improve his stock. He knew an expensive horse when he saw one.
Contemplating how Pearl’s sister had come by this one puzzled him to no end. He didn’t know of anyone in the country who bred or sold them. He ran a palm down over the mare’s bony forehead, and she twitched an ear.
Everything he thought he’d known about Ruby Dearing was being turned upside down. Pearl had never spoken ill of her, but Pearl never spoke ill of anyone. A few years after their father had deserted them, Ruby had hightailed it out of their lives as well. What drove a person to leave their family behind and disappear?
He’d been young once, frustrated by his father’s expectations that he work at the mill in hopes of one day taking over. Nash had told his father that he wanted something else—that he wanted to raise horses—but his father had turned a deaf ear. Cosmo Sommerton’s own dream of building a milling operation and leaving it as a legacy kept him from recognizing or appreciating his son’s ambition.
The few times during his youth that Nash had approached his father about going out on his own, Cosmo had become so upset Nash had backed down. He’d still been working at the mill when he was in his twenties. Through church activities he and Pearl had struck up a friendship.
Nash stroked the Duchess’s shiny neck and patted her solid withers. “You’re a beauty, all right.”
The horse nickered. It had been no secret that Pearl and her mother were looking for someone to take over the operation of their farm. They could no longer afford to pay hands to do all the work, and had come to the place where they were forced to sell or combine efforts with another owner.
Pearl had been one of the prettiest young women in the community. She was a sweet thing, devoted to her mother and a volunteer at church. There were plenty of fellows willing to court and marry her, but she hadn’t given anyone the time of day until she and Nash became better acquainted.
Nash had taken his share of girls to local dances, but the idea of marrying one had made his future at the mill less and less appealing. If he had a wife—and most likely a young family—he’d be stuck there forever.
One evening he had shared with Pearl his hopes for having a ranch. After talking to her mother, she’d approached him a few days later with the offer of turning the Dearing farm into a ranch. The land was there, the buildings, even fertile fields for hay and alfalfa. Everything he needed for a start. He’d set aside some savings, which he could use to buy horses.
Nash let himself out of the stall and checked on the mares as he made his way toward the front of the stable.
As he’d pondered it over, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted that land, he’d considered his father’s reaction. Nash had thought about their future living arrangements—and how everything would be more suitable and proper if he and Pearl married. His father would likely be more tolerant of Nash’s choice if love was involved.
And so he’d proposed, and Pearl had cheerfully accepted. They’d made the best choice for everyone concerned, and Nash had his ranch.
It had been easy to love Pearl. She was kind and loving and never complained, even when he worked long hours and spent nights in the barn with foaling mares. She had Laura for company, and later the children kept her busy.
In his heart, though, Nash sometimes feared he’d cheated her. He’d always planned that there would be time to make it up to her, time when they could take trips and he could lavish attention on her as she deserved.
But the horses always needed his attention. And then Laura had become ill, and Pearl had devoted more of her time to her mother. Nash recalled one evening in particular, when he’d entered the house after dark and Pearl had still been in the kitchen. The sweet smell of peaches hung heavy in the air. A dozen Mason jars sat cooling on the table, and his wife was washing an enormous kettle. She set it on the stove when she’d dried it, and turned to greet him with a weary smile.
“Are you hungry?”
“I ate with the hands.”
“Maybe a dish of peaches then?” One slender strand of hair had escaped the neat knot she always wore, and touched her neck. She tucked it back in place.
“You need your rest.” He stepped close and reached behind her to untie her apron. He hung it over the back of a chair. “Go on upstairs. I’ll bring water.”
The image faded in Nash’s mind. He had