Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John

of the woman. What was a footloose and fancy-free honky-tonk singer doing caring about the fate of an abused animal? He didn’t like this chip in his already polished opinion.

      She headed for the house and returned carrying a big wooden coffee grinder with a cast-iron crank.

      “Take the drawer out and set it over a pan in the back there,” he told her. “I’ll take him to a stall.”

      Nash led the docile horse away, and Ruby did as he asked. When he returned he scooped soybean meal into a bucket and scooted it toward her. She cranked while he went for a pail of linseed meal.

      When she changed hands, he realized her arm must be growing tired, but she was relentless. “Let me do the linseed,” he offered.

      “I can do it,” she insisted.

      “We still have the rugs and furniture to put back,” he reasoned. “I can do this faster.”

      She relented, but knelt close to do all the scooping.

      After several minutes of silence he looked at her. “I have to ask. How 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.