Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John
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did this horse purchase come about?”
“I was waiting for Mr. Brubeker’s grandson to load the things I bought, and I saw a gathering at the livery. I was curious, so I walked over. A man had four horses he was trying to sell. They were all skinny and their coats were in bad shape. This one was the worst.”
“And so you bought him?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, glanced away, but then looked back at him. “Yes. I couldn’t watch that man any longer, and I couldn’t let him get away with mistreating those animals.”
“What about the other horses?”
“Some of the men there bought them.”
Getting to his feet, Nash studied the ill-treated animal and tried to picture the scene, but couldn’t. He certainly didn’t fault Ruby for her compassion, but she’d taken on a big job. “This should be enough food to last a few days. We’ll make a pailful at a time. Want to dip water?”
“Sure.” She got to her feet and soon returned, lugging a full pail.
Nash got a long wooden stick from the tack room and together they poured water and stirred. “Real thin,” he told her. “Then you have to let it stand and expand for a few minutes before you feed it to him. Otherwise it’ll swell in his belly.”
While they waited he went for a salt block and set it in the stall. At the front of the stable Dugger could be heard unharnessing the horses.
At last Nash carried the pail in for Ruby, and together they watched the animal lower his head to the slop and eat.
“And he can have grass, too?” she asked.
“Hay, grass, alfalfa,” Nash said. “You can’t let him out in the pasture for a couple of weeks. His intake has to be moderate until he’s doing well with this.”
She met Nash’s eyes. “You sure know a lot about how to take care of him. I would have done it all wrong and caused him harm.”
Her comment flustered Nash, but he didn’t let on. “Tomorrow you can wash him down. Then treat those sores.”
“Thank you, Nash.”
He never knew what to say to her. He had trouble acknowledging her, accepting her presence... Looking at her square on, he found she was nothing like he’d imagined or expected. Ruby was unusual. Provoking at times. But she wasn’t a monster, and he hadn’t wanted to admit that. Still didn’t. He stepped out into the corridor between stalls. “You did the right thing.”
Her eyes widened.
He turned and went back to work.
Early the following morning a sound woke Ruby. She sat up in bed. She’d been so worn out the night before, she’d barely had the energy to put the last clean dish away and sweep the kitchen floor. Three rooms were spotless. The pantry and cellar were full, and she had rescued a horse. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms. This domestic life was more difficult work than singing and acting, but here she didn’t have to avoid the hands of lecherous men or sleep on a hard seat on a rocking train as it crossed the country.
Her youthful dreams had turned into unglamorous reality a long time ago, but she’d been too stubborn to admit her impetuousness, and too proud to give up without giving the effort her all. Nobody could say Ruby Dearing didn’t follow through.
Another sound from one of the rooms reached her. The unaccustomed noise drew her out of bed. She pulled on a lacy dressing gown over her nakedness and opened her door, stepping out into the hall. The sound came from down the hall, so she padded to the doorway of one of the bedrooms.
She peeked around the partially closed door to discover Nash standing before a bureau, adjusting a black tie at his collar. Seeing her movement, he turned. His hair was wet and neatly combed, and he wore a pressed white shirt and dark trousers. “Morning.”
She felt foolish for coming to look. Obviously, he and Pearl had shared this room, and his clothing was still stored inside. “Sorry. I wasn’t used to hearing anyone in the house in the morning.”
She pulled the robe around her more securely. As usual, she hadn’t thought ahead when she’d jumped out of bed and into the hall, with only this thin garment to cover her.
He took several steps toward the doorway. His gaze dropped to the V at her throat, traveled across her breasts and down to her feet before he drew his attention back to her face. “It’s Sunday,” he said simply. “Are you coming to church?”
“I’m not much for church.” Her skin flushed under his perusal. “Your mother did invite me for dinner, though.”
“I can come back for you,” he offered.
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