Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John

would have done. Of course her sister had known how to do everything properly. She’d probably never even said words like drawers or underpinnings in front of her husband.

      Ruby didn’t like feeling foolish, and she wasn’t going to let her sister’s cranky husband make her feel bad. There were nice ways to say things, and he hadn’t been very nice about anything yet.

      Yanking open drawers in the bureau, she took out all her mother’s stockings and cotton clothing, and unfolded and refolded each piece. Ruby didn’t own much everyday wear, so she’d be able to use most of the items herself. Mama would have liked her practical thinking.

      At the bottom of a drawer she found a rectangle wrapped in a scarf and uncovered it, revealing her parents’ wedding portrait. Her mother looked so young and lovely, with a sweet girlish expression. Ruby ran a finger over the image, noting Laura’s simple clothing and the plain veil she’d worn over her hair. Around her neck was the gold locket she’d always worn. Seeing it stirred up more memories for Ruby.

      Her father stood straight and tall in his three-piece suit. He was fair, with a thick mustache and curly hair Ruby remembered well. Seeing his likeness brought an ache to her chest.

      One morning he simply hadn’t been at the breakfast table.

      “Where’s Daddy?” Pearl had asked.

      “I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.” It wasn’t until years later that Ruby had considered how controlled her mother’s voice and actions had been as she’d hidden her panic and fear from her daughters. “He took the big brown suitcase and his clothes.”

      “But he didn’t say goodbye!” Ruby had cried. “He must be coming back.”

      “I don’t think so,” her mother had said, ineffectively dousing hope. “You girls had best set your minds to the fact that your daddy’s gone for good.”

      Pearl had cried, and their mother had wiped her tears and hugged her.

      “He’ll come back,” Ruby had stated emphatically, sure of it. Certain he wouldn’t just leave them without a word of explanation.

      When her mother had reached to comfort her, she’d angrily slid from her chair and run out the back door. People didn’t just give up on the ones they loved. But with every day and week and month that had passed, her hope had faded.

      She’d never stopped wishing. Wishing he’d return with hugs and gifts and assurance that he loved her. Wishing life wasn’t so hard for her mother, for all of them. But Ruby had also grown determined. She would not spend her life here, lonely and fading like dry flowers in the heat—like her mother. She was going to see places, meet people, live life without boundaries.

      Obviously, the sight of the portrait had been too painful for her mother, so she’d hidden it away. Ruby set it on the bureau beside pictures of herself and Pearl as May Day fairies, with flowers in their hair, winding streamers around the maypole. She tested how she felt with the wedding picture in plain view.

      Her father hadn’t married Laura with the intent of leaving. He’d obviously loved her and planned a life together. What had pulled him away?

      Maybe his leaving hadn’t reflected on her or her sister. Maybe it hadn’t been her mother’s fault. Maybe he’d simply had a wandering spirit, and nothing could have tied him to this land.

      Ruby discovered she liked the happy memories of her and her sister as children and her parents young and in love. The portrait reminded her she had been a part of a family once. They were all gone now, and her only relations were Nash and Pearl’s two children. She was going to have to learn to get along with him—and somehow prove herself to him. She would look at the faces of her parents and sister in the morning and at night to remember the good times and remind herself what was important.

      A glance at the clock told her it was time to prepare supper, so she put away the clothing and cleaning supplies.

      Her lack of foresight had left her with few choices for a meal. Tomorrow she would go into Crosby and buy supplies.

      Out back of the house, she eyed the chickens in the pen. She had no idea what to do with a chicken, but she sure liked them fried, so she went in search of her brother-in-law.

      * * *

      “Hello?”

      At the sound of her husky voice, Nash set down a bucket and straightened.

      Startled that Ruby had sought him out, he met her in the opening of the barn door, where the late afternoon sun sent shafts of light across the hard-packed dirt. She walked into one of them, and the sun lit her hair like fool’s gold. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

      “What do you want?”

      “I wondered if you’d show me how to get a chicken ready to cook.”

      Having her here made things agonizingly complex. He didn’t want to help her, but she did seem to be making an effort to do something useful. His belly was already grumbling.

      She planted her hands on her hips. “I want to learn. And I really want to eat.”

      He grabbed his hat and settled it on his head as he strode out the door. Since she was bound and determined to get in the way of a day’s work, he might as well get a meal out of her effort. “Got hot water ready?”

      “No.”

      “Not boiling, just hot enough to scald. Sit a big pot on the back porch there.”

      She hurried to do his bidding, and returned minutes later.

      “Don’t eat the sitters,” he explained. “If they’re on nests in the henhouse, let ’em be. You have to pay attention to know which ones lay regularly.”

      She followed him into the pen.

      “That one’s a rooster.” He pointed. “I didn’t know till it crowed the other day. Grab it by the feet and hang it upside down, so it won’t flap its wings.” It took Nash a couple minutes to demonstrate a humane kill and preparation.

      If he’d thought she’d be squeamish, he was wrong. She watched the process with interest, listening as he explained, watching as he scalded the bird and pulled off the loose feathers.

      “What about all these little ones that are left?”

      “Burn ’em off over the stove. Then cut it into pieces for frying.”

      She took the plucked bird from him. “Thank you, Nash.”

      Simple words, but in that throaty voice, they seemed to hold more meaning. She made things personal with that voice. She had the uncanny ability to make him feel something besides anger and grief, and he didn’t like it.

      He nodded and went back to his work. He had responsibilities, and tomorrow didn’t take care of itself.

      His wife’s sister was persistent and would hound him until he answered her questions. He carried an uneasy feeling about what she wanted to talk about. He’d been working at the mill until he’d married Pearl. She and her mother had been hanging on to the Dearing farm and scraping by. He’d offered to take over farming if that was what they wanted, but Laura had been ready to let him do whatever he wanted with the land.

      It had always been his dream to raise horses, and these acres held rolling hills of pasture and fields ripe for hay. It had been a sensible arrangement for them to share the big house with Pearl’s mother, and Laura had welcomed Nash and later their children.

      Laura Dearing hadn’t deserved the hairpin turns life had dealt her. She’d been a kindhearted, devout woman who loved her family and should have had a husband at her side. She should have lived to a ripe old age and seen her grandchildren’s children.

      And Pearl. She’d worked hard and sacrificed to help him get the ranch going. Their marriage had been convenient for both of them. She got a husband to take over the land and provide for her and her mother. He got the ranch