Ruby (3 page)
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 beginning 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.
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
M
arshal 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.
arshal 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.
Damned near thirty, and still living by his wits and his gun. It might have been exciting when he was a tough, ornery kid. Now it was just hard, grinding work. And every two-bit gunslinger, it seemed, was looking for bragging rights as the one who gunned down Marshal Quent Regan.
Right now the only thing that kept him going was the thought of a long, hot soak in a tub, a good cigar and a tumbler of whiskey before he hit the cot in his little room behind the jail.
Quent passed Neville Oakley’s livery, Byron Conner’s bank, Durfee’s Mercantile and Barney Healey’s barbershop, when he saw what looked like more trouble up ahead.
“Marshal Regan.” Deputy Arlo Spitz came racing down the road, waving his hat for attention.
At the sight of his boss’s steely-eyed glare, he skidded to a halt. Even though Arlo had worked for the marshal for more than four years, he was still in awe of the lawman. Arlo knew better than most that Quent Regan was a tough loner. If he got on the bad side of his boss, there’d be hell to pay. He hesitated a minute longer, then decided his news was too important to wait.
Quent fixed him with a scowl. His deputy was absolutely quivering with excitement. It could mean only one thing. The dark cloud on his day was about to get darker.
“What is it, Arlo?”
“You know that peddler that came to town a couple of days ago?”
Quent nodded. “The one selling snake oil from the back of a gaudy wagon?”
“That’s the one. Well, Marshal, you won’t believe it. He’s been robbed.”
Quent’s eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t you take care of it?”
“Well, sir, I would have. But the truth is, I just heard. And I saw you coming, and I thought—”
Quent cut him off. “Where is this peddler?”
Arlo pointed. “Over at the jail. I thought you’d want to ask him a few questions.”
The marshal handed over the reins. “Take this one out back. Doc will want to look him over before we put him in the ground.”
Arlo studied the body with a critical eye. Appeared to be only one shot. He wasn’t surprised. The marshal was so quick and accurate with his gun, most times that’s all he needed.
Arlo had tasted Quent Regan’s temper a time or two. And he’d had occasion to watch the lawman in action. This wasn’t a man who made idle threats, or enjoyed battering lawbreakers. He just did his job. And did it better than anyone he’d ever met.
“Who is it?”
“Ward Barlow.”
“Mind telling me where?”
“Up on Widow’s Peak. His brother got away. With my badge. Send a Wanted poster to all the lawmen in the territory. Tell them to be on the lookout for Boyd Barlow. Give a complete description. That one’s dangerous.” Quent nudged his horse into a trot.
His deputy watched him ride away. From the looks of the marshal’s jacket, those two outlaws hadn’t made it easy for him. But as usual, Quent was tight-lipped. And the townspeople would be left to speculate on just how much he’d had to endure before subduing this one.
Knowing the marshal as he did, Arlo was certain that Quent Regan wouldn’t rest until the second outlaw was found. And Quent’s badge recovered.
Weary beyond belief, Quent tied his horse and pulled open the door to the jail.
“Evening,” he called.
Inside, the peddler stopped his pacing. “Marshal. My name’s Vernon Mathis.”
Quent accepted his handshake. “Mr. Mathis. I hear you were robbed.”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it.” The marshal crossed the room and settled himself at his desk, making a steeple of his fingers.
Vernon resumed his pacing. “Not much to tell. I had a pretty good day. I sold some skin balm and a youth elixir to an elderly woman. The widow Purdy, I believe she said. And a couple of bottles of tonic to a Mrs. Witherspoon. Then I got busy with a gentleman named Farley Duke who wanted to look at my collection of guns. I finally sold him a Remington six-shot.”
Quent reminded himself to be patient. Sooner or later this peddler would get to the point.
“While you were busy with Mr. Duke, were there any other customers?”
The peddler shrugged. “Too many to count. But I’ll never forget the thief.”
“And why is that?”
Vernon’s tone changed. “She thought she had me dazzled.”
“She?” Quent sat up straighter.
The peddler nodded.
“Can you describe her?”
Vernon Mathis sighed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more beautiful creature. Eyes that flashed like fire. Hair the color of a chestnut stallion. And a body like a goddess, amply displayed, I might add, in a red satin gown that looked like it came from St. Louis. Or Paris, France. Know anyone in town who would fit that description, Marshal?”
Quent’s frown deepened. He had it on the tip of his tongue to remind this peddler that there was a world of difference between St. Louis and Paris. But there was something far more important here. With every word out of the man’s mouth, the marshal’s mood had darkened. There was only one woman in all of Texas who fit that description. And she had the same effect on every man she met.
“How do you know the woman you saw is the thief?” Quent asked quietly.
“She accused me of selling shabby merchandise.”
“And were you?”
The peddler flushed. “I’ll match my goods with anyone’s. But that’s not the point. I was robbed. And I saw her do it.”
“You saw her?” ’
His color deepened. “To be honest, Marshal, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That’s why I’m so certain. She asked if she could look more closely at my collection of beads. I was still watching her when she slipped the trinkets into her pocket.”
“Trinkets?” Quent Regan pounced on the word, shoving back his chair as he got to his feet. “You’re here to report the theft of some...cheap trinkets?”
“Cheap?” The salesman stiffened his spine. “They may not be worth much, but I’ll have you know the Cheyenne think very highly of my pretty baubles. It’s the reason the chief allows me to trade with his people.”
Fighting a wave of impatience, Quent dug into his pocket. “How much did they cost you, Mr. Mathis?”
“It isn’t the money,” Vernon protested. “I just don’t like to be hornswoggled by some two-bit—”
Quent’s hand was at the man’s throat before he even realized what. he was doing. His temper was reaching the boiling point. “How much?” he demanded.
“I paid two dollars for a tray of them in St. Louis.”
“A tray? Would that be a dozen?”
“Six dozen.”
“Two dollars for seventy-two cheap necklaces. And how many are missing?”
“A...couple.” Vernon sucked in air and exhaled slowly as the marshal released him. His eyes widened as Quent peeled off a bill.
When Quent handed him the money, he added, “But they would have brought five times that much from the Cheyenne.”
Quent peeled off another bill. “We’ll split the difference and call it even, Mr. Mathis.”
With a greedy little smile the peddler tucked the money away. “Now, about that thief...”
“I expect to see your wagon gone by morning, Mr. Mathis,” the marshal said sternly.
“But I still have—”
“Before sunup. Any later, you’ll find yourself a guest in my jail.”
The peddler took one look at the marshal’s stern face and swallowed. With a sullen nod of his head, he took his leave.
A few minutes later Arlo entered, looked around and scratched his head. “What happened to our peddler, marshal?”
“He told me what I needed to know.”
“But doesn’t he want to stay until you catch the thief?”
Quent shook his head. “I sent him on his way. Don’t have much use for snake-oil salesmen. But I can’t stop him from plying his trade in some other town.”
Arlo watched as his boss picked up his hat and started toward the door. He knew, by the icy tone and dark scowl, that Marshal Quent Regan had just about reached the end of his patience. “You going to arrest the thief now?”
“You’re damned right I am.”
Outside, as Quent heaved himself into the saddle, he realized glumly that bed, bath and whiskey would have to wait.
Even the threat of rain couldn’t dim Ruby’s sense of elation. She lowered her shawl so the breeze could play through her hair. After a childhood in the steamy bayou, she was unaffected by the heat of late summer here in Texas.
Ruby was so caught up in her plans for the future, she didn’t hear the pounding of a horse’s hooves until the horse and rider were beside her. For a moment she was so startled, all she could do was stare. Then, seeing the marshal, she felt the lightning jolt she always felt whenever he came near. It was not the man, she told herself. It was that badge he wore. A badge of authority. All her life she’d resented those who wielded rigid authority. But she had learned, through experience, how to deal with them.
She drew in the reins until her horse and cart came to a stop.
“Why, Marshal Regan.
Enchantée.
I am, as you say, delighted to see you.”
Enchantée.
I am, as you say, delighted to see you.”
“Are you?” Quent’s fury had grown with every mile. And now, looking at Ruby Jewel, he finally had a focus for all that pent-up anger.
“Oui.
I am on my way to my father’s ranch. Would you care to join me, Marshal?”
I am on my way to my father’s ranch. Would you care to join me, Marshal?”
“I’d rather talk right here, if you don’t mind.”
“But of course.” She gave him her most dazzling smile.
He saw right through her. He was already braced for that look she bestowed on men. Like rain on parched land. Like sunshine after a storm. But he was ready for it. Not today, Ruby Jewel, he thought You’re not going to dazzle this man with your charm.
In a bid to gain time and gather his thoughts, he took several moments to tie his horse to the back of her rig. Then he strolled up beside her.
“There was a theft today. From the wagon of that traveling salesman, Vernon Mathis. I thought I’d ask if you knew anything about it.” ,
“I?” She placed a hand over her heart and saw the way the marshal’s gaze followed the movement. Pleased, she gave a delicate sigh. “How could I possibly know about this...theft?”
“Mr. Mathis told me you were there.”
“But I am a stranger to this man. And he to me. How would he know my name?”
“He didn’t. But he described you, and your gown, and your hair, and...” He’d almost slipped and said “body.” He cleared his throat. “There’s no other like you in Hanging Tree, Ruby.” Or all of Texas, for that matter.
She gave a little laugh. “I think, Marshal, you are flattering me.”
He bit back an oath. Damned if she wasn’t trying to make him forget all his promises to himself. “I’m not here to Hatter you, Ruby. I’m here to ask if you know about the theft.”
“Perhaps if you would tell me what is missing,” she prompted.
“Beads. Pretty trinkets.”
“That is all?”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes a moment, deep in thought. That gave Quent time to study the way an errant curl had dipped provocatively over her forehead, brushing her brow. His gaze settled on the long, pale column of throat, then lowered to the swell of high, firm breasts, visible beneath the scoop of her neckline. That was where he was staring when her eyes snapped open.
He felt a new rush of fury and clenched his hand into a fist at his side.
“I have given this matter some thought, Marshal, but I fear I can be of no assistance. I recall nothing suspicious.”
As she raised her hand to flick the reins, he spotted something dangling from the corner of her pocket. Something that caught and reflected the light.
His temper reached the boiling point.
It wasn’t bad enough that Ruby Jewel, thanks to her father’s generous will, was one of the richest women in Texas. He could understand a woman stealing, if she was driven to it by cruel circumstances. He’d seen plenty of frightened, hungry folks in his time. But this woman needed nothing. What made it worse was the fact that, confronted with the truth, she insisted upon lying. Quent Regan hated lying.
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