Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John

over his memories.

      “Who are you?” she asked.

      That wasn’t Pearl’s voice. Pearl’s tone had always been soft and lilting. The dream woman’s gravelly voice sounded as though she’d been screaming for a week. He opened his eyes and frowned.

      “I said who are you? What did you come looking for?”

      “Coffee, I think.”

      “Come morning I’m going for the marshal,” she said. “And you’re going to jail.”

      “If Marcus Styles puts anyone in jail, it’ll be you.” Nash frowned again. “But then dream people can’t go to jail, can they?”

      “Are you touched in the head, mister?”

      “I wasn’t until....” He scanned the room as it slowly came into focus, taking note of the cup and saucer on the table, the cast-iron skillet on the stove. A very heavy skillet, as he recalled. “Is that what you hit me with?”

      No wonder he was still seeing stars! He tested his hands once again, finding them securely bound behind his back. His feet, too, were firmly tied to the legs of the chair.

      “Sit still or I’ll clobber you again,” she threatened, dropping onto a chair.

      Now that she sat directly in front of him and he didn’t have to squint upward, he had a better view. Her shiny hair was wilder than Pearl’s, flaxen ringlets curling in haphazard disarray. Her face and hands weren’t pale as Pearl’s had been. But her features were delicate and feminine, her nose slim, albeit freckled. She had eyes as blue as his wife’s, but with dark lashes that belied her pale hair.

      And her mouth... It was wider, her lips more full... She had a mouth that would keep a man tied in knots.

      Something about her reminded him of Pearl’s mother, Laura, as well. Perhaps her eyes. Perhaps the stare that seemed to look into a person’s soul, and required accountability.

      He wasn’t dreaming.

      He knew exactly who this woman was. “The question is what are you doing here?”

      “This is my home,” she declared.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “And what does a robber know about me?”

      “I’m not a robber. Untie me.”

      “So you can tie me up? Or perhaps kill me and steal everything in the house?”

      “There’s nothin’ in this house that amounts to much,” he told her. “If I was going to rob someone I’d find a more prosperous rancher. And I know everything I need to know about you.” Then he added, “Ruby.”

       Chapter Two

      Her eyes widened in surprise and she straightened on her chair. Her gaze darted aside for a moment and then narrowed on his face again. “How do you know my name?”

      “You look just like your sister. Well, not just like her. You’re not as pretty.”

      His insult didn’t seem to faze her. “You know my sister?”

      Anger and remorse carved a new pain in his chest. He swallowed before saying, “Yes.”

      “Who are you?” she asked again.

      “Nash Sommerton.”

      Her expression revealed no recognition. She gave her head a half shake.

      “Her husband,” he clarified.

      Ruby’s confusion was plain, but oddly, it seemed tempered with relief. She cast him a skeptical glance. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

      “Why would I lie?”

      “Where is she?”

      “Untie me.”

      “Where is she?”

      “Untie me.”

      They sat like that for a full minute, staring at each other, hobbled in a battle of control. He knew a stalemate when he encountered one. He’d learned most of what he knew about this woman from his wife and mother-in-law, women who didn’t speak evil of anyone and who always expected the best. The rest he’d learned from what they hadn’t said—from the hurt on their faces and the silence that yawned when her name came up.

      “Your sister is dead,” he said finally. It made him angry to say it like that. To be helpless to escape the fact.

      “You’re lying.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and gave him an accusatory glare. “I don’t know why you’d say such a cruel thing, but you’re lying.”

      “I might be a lot of things,” he replied. “But I’m not a liar.”

      Her doubt was easy to read.

      “Look around,” he suggested. “She’s not here. Hasn’t been here for nearly two years.”

      “She’s probably somewhere else. If you’re her husband, she’s at your place.”

      “This is my place.”

      Ruby’s mouth opened and shut before she asked, “What are you talking about?”

      “The Lazy S is my ranch now.”

      “This is the Dearing farm.”

      “It’s not a farm. Only crops out there are grains to feed the horses. Did you not notice that on your way in?”

      She’d noticed. He saw it on her face.

      “Two years?” she questioned, as though just grasping the information. “How could she be dead?” She shook her head. “I mean—how? How did it happen?”

      “She was driving back from town with supplies. A storm came up and the wagon overturned in Little Wolf Creek. She was trapped under it. She drowned.”

      Ruby didn’t want to believe him. “Where’s my mother?”

      “You’d have known all this if you’d have been here.”

      “Where is my mother?”

      He drew a breath, but paused. Finally, he looked Ruby in the eye. “She died in April.”

      Something flickered behind her eyes. Disbelief? Anger? “Now I know you’re making all this up. You expect me to believe they’re both dead?”

      He shrugged as best he could with his hands bound behind his back. The woman was darned good with a knot. “See for yourself. Your mother’s things are all just the way they were when she was here.”

      Plain enough, that statement rang true. Some of the color drained from Ruby’s cheeks.

      He jerked his head to indicate an easterly direction, and winced when pain crept up his neck. “There are three graves up on the rise that overlooks Deer Hollow.”

      The rest of the color had drained from her face by now. “Three?”

      He resented being the one to tell her all this. He resented talking about it at all. “Lost a baby four years ago.”

      She got up and left the room.

      * * *

      Ruby stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the worn banister, her heart in her throat. Crushing fear rose up and threatened to suck the air from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing this nightmare to end...willing sanity and reason to return. Needing her world to settle back on its axis and stop careening out of control.

      The dust everywhere, her mother’s clothing, the vanity set and hairbrush... It all added up to confirm that man’s claims.

      But