Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John

only briefly. “I’m figuring that out. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

      Mr. Brubeker’s grandson was a lanky redheaded youth with a charming grin and freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks. He was still loading the buckboard, so she strolled along the street, gazing into the windows of the printer, the barber and a locksmith. A commotion at the end of the block caught her attention and she made sure the Brubeker boy was still loading her purchases before walking toward the gathering.

      Next to the livery, a small crowd had formed around the corral, where four horses stood listlessly.

      Ruby inched her way closer to the barricade to see the animals. They were all appallingly thin, with splotchy coats, and one in particular, a speckled gray gelding, had bare spots on his hide and ribs showing.

      “What’s going on?” she asked the men beside her.

      “That fella’s tryin’ to sell those horses, but don’t look like he’s gettin’ any takers.”

      She observed silently for a few painful minutes. It was obvious the poor animals were undernourished and neglected. Ruby felt sick at first, but then anger swept over her. “Who do they belong to?”

      “See the short bald fella over there? Him.”

      She skirted the gathering until she reached the man he’d indicated. “Are those your horses?”

      He turned and looked at her. She was an inch or two taller and he had to gaze up. His eyes widened. “Who are you?”

      She ignored the question. “These horses haven’t been cared for or fed properly.”

      He narrowed his gaze. “Who the hell are you and what would you know?”

      “My name’s Ruby Dearing, and it doesn’t take a genius to look at their coats and ribs and see they’ve been neglected.” She glanced around, noting the curious faces of the bystanders. “Isn’t there a law to protect those animals?”

      A couple men shrugged.

      “Well, little lady. If’n you’re so fixed on the critters, why don’t you fork over the cash to buy ’em and take ’em home?”

      Ruby’s skin burned hot. She shot the gathering of men a challenging look. “I’ll buy one if the rest of you will buy one.” She turned back. “How much are you asking?”

      “Fifty dollars apiece.”

      The man was both cruel and a crook. She looked him in the eye. “You’ll get ten dollars a head and not a cent more. Take it and leave before I find the marshal.” Reaching into the deep pocket of her skirt, she pulled out her coin purse and plucked out paper money. Casting a challenging stare at those around her, she urged, “Don’t let him get away with this. Take a good look at these mistreated animals. Someone has to do something. Buy one of these horses or you won’t be able to sleep tonight for the guilt of not doing what’s right.”

      Grumbles arose, but three of the men produced money. One by one they begrudgingly selected their horses, until only one was left standing. Ruby shoved her ten dollars at the seller and marched forward. “What’s his name?”

      The man glared at her and stuffed the money into his pocket. “Call the hay-burnin’ bag o’ bones any damned thing you want.”

      He turned on his heel and stormed into the livery.

      Ruby stroked the gelding’s neck and looked him over. He rolled his eye at her and bobbed his head. Patches of his hide were raw and he had sores on his legs. Her eyes stung at his suffering. The animal’s obvious misery turned her stomach.

      Those who remained near the corral watched her. She took the horse’s lead and walked him from the enclosure, hoping he had the gumption to make it back to the ranch.

      The buckboard was loaded, so Ruby led the gelding to the trough, let him drink a minute and then tied him to the tailgate. After climbing up to the seat and unhooking the reins, she spoke to the Duchess and Boone. “We’re heading back real slow. This fellow needs a good home.”

      Once outside town, she stopped the team, got down to untie the gelding and let him graze in the shade of a tree for a few minutes. Back on the road, she turned and checked on him often as they made plodding progress.

      Finally reaching the ranch, she drove the buckboard to the house.

      Dugger had seen her approach, and joined her to unload the items. “Where’d the gray come from?”

      “I bought him from a man in town.”

      “Looks mighty sickly, don’t he? I’m surprised he made it all the way here.”

      “Me, too.” She untied the gelding and led him toward the stables.

      Nash appeared at the corner of the building and faced her with feet planted. “What are you doing?”

      “I’ve brought home a horse.”

      “I can see it’s a horse. What’s it doing here?”

      “I bought it.”

      “You paid for that animal?”

      “He was in a bad situation, and I wasn’t going to leave him behind.” She stroked the horse’s withers and stepped nearer his head to rub his bony brow.

      Nash’s expression didn’t reveal his thoughts. He looked at the horse for a long moment. “You’ve taken on a big job.”

      “He’s had a hard life. I’m going to take care of him.”

      “And just how do you plan to do that?”

      “Well, feed him, first off. I’ll give him plenty of oats and water.”

      Nash shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

      “Why not?”

      “This horse is malnourished. He’s not used to eating. Feeding him as you would any other horse would kill him.”

      A bolt of concern rocketed through Ruby’s chest. “I let him eat grass on the way home!”

      Nash’s expression softened. He visibly relaxed his shoulders. “Grass is fine. Hay, too. But no hard grains. You’ll have to start feeding him slowly, making mash like wet slop at first.”

      “Out of what?”

      “Soybean meal, linseed meal. It’ll have to be ground until his stomach and intestines get used to it.”

      “Ground. Could I use the coffee grinder?”

      “Don’t see why not.” Nash watched her stroke the animal’s neck. “Bring him inside, then get the grinder. I’ll show you.”

      Nash didn’t know what to make of this woman bringing home a badly neglected horse. It seemed she’d made herself right at home—and she was; he couldn’t deny it. The land was legally hers. The agreement between him and her mother had been a verbal one. At the time Laura had been weak, but they’d all assumed Pearl would be here to retain the property and house.

      Watching Ruby with the horse, recognizing her instinctive need to help the animal, played havoc with Nash’s knowledge 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