Sequins and Spurs. Cheryl St.John

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      “Saint Anthony’s fire,” she told him. “Tastes bad, but will stop the pain in your head.”

      He trusted her. Once when his mother had experienced some sort of female infirmity, Little Bird’s remedy had fixed her good as new. The woman had cured one of his father’s mill workers from palsy in his hands, and last winter she’d made Nash an ointment for his cracked and bleeding knuckles that had healed them right up. “Yes, ma’am.”

      He went to his horse and opened the saddlebag to take out a sack of sugar. Little Bird never accepted cash, but she always appreciated items she didn’t grow or gather herself. He carried the sugar to the doorstep and set it down.

      “Thank you, Nash Sommerton.”

      “It’s I who am indebted.” He took his hat from the pommel of his saddle and settled it on his head.

      “We must travel our own paths,” she said. “Some try to tell us which turns to take and how fast to walk. But in the end it’s our journey, and we must make it alone.”

      “Are you trying to tell me something about my wife’s sister?”

      “I’m suggesting you don’t draw conclusions without all the information.”

      He had plenty of information. All of it incriminating where Ruby was concerned.

      Little Bird raised her hand in farewell. Nash tipped his hat and headed back to the ranch.

      Approaching the stables, he glanced toward the house, and his heart skipped a beat. Sheets and pillowcases flapped on the clothesline in the sunlight, a sight he painfully associated with his wife. But of course it hadn’t been Pearl’s hands who’d hung the bedding. Dressed in a plain brown skirt splotched with water and with her sleeves rolled back, Ruby lugged a washtub to the side of the porch and dumped it out onto the parched lilac bush.

      She wiped her forehead with her wrist and glanced in his direction.

      Even from this distance, the differences between her and his wife were glaring. He’d never seen Pearl looking disheveled, not even on wash day.

      Ruby set down the tub and wiped her hands on her skirt. Then she walked to the stairs and descended, heading toward him.

      He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to see her. She stirred up too many feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

      She approached to within several feet and stopped. “How’s your head?”

      “I’ll live.”

      “I said I was sorry.”

      He said nothing.

      “I was wondering about something. I noticed a couple of men coming and going from the stable and the barn.”

      He narrowed his gaze warily. “Yeah?”

      “Could they help me for a short time tomorrow, so I can move out the furniture to clean the rugs and wax the floors?”

      “My hands aren’t maids,” he replied. What was she trying to prove by cleaning the house? It was a little late to show up and pitch in now.

      She set her hands on her hips and fixed him with an exasperated glare. “I didn’t ask for a maid. I asked for strong backs.” She glanced toward the barn. “Never mind. I’ll handle it on my own.”

      She turned and headed toward the house. The sun caught in her crazy hair and set the golden curls ablaze. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Everything about her made him ache. His heart, his head...

      A sound caught his attention.

      * * *

      Ruby shaded her eyes and discovered a black buggy drawn by a single horse moving toward them. Behind it a trail of dust rose into the air. “Company?” she asked.

      Nash had turned to view the approaching conveyance as well. He slid his hat back on his head, revealing a strong profile and lean jaw. Ruby glanced from him to the buggy. His expression didn’t give away his thoughts.

      “Do you know who it is?”

      “I know.” He moved toward the lane.

      She followed at a distance, straining to see the driver, who turned out to be a woman in a blue dress and a wide-brimmed hat with matching silk flowers and ribbons. She guided the horse to a stop.

      Nash took the reins, pulled the brake and wrapped the leather around the handle. The woman gracefully accepted his help and he lowered her to the ground.

      She wasn’t alone. Two children crowded forward to be lifted down, but instead of placing the little girl on her feet, Nash enveloped her in a hug. With a gleeful cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her stockinged legs around his waist.

      The smaller child, a boy in a pressed shirt and suspenders, jumped up and down impatiently.

      Finally, Nash placed the girl on the ground and the boy leaped into his arms. “Papa! Papa!”

      His cheerful cries penetrated Ruby’s confusion.

       Papa?

      The woman turned toward Ruby, her expression curious. She was lovely, with dark winged brows, high cheekbones and glowing olive skin. She took in Ruby’s hair and clothing before settling her attention on her face. Recognition dawned in her warm brown eyes and she asked, “Are you going to introduce us, Nash?”

      “This is Laura’s other daughter.” He glanced at Ruby. “My mother, Georgia Sommerton.”

      “I thought so.” Georgia extended a slender hand. “I remember you, Ruby.”

      “You do?”

      “Yes, of course. You were an adventurous child, as I recall.”

      “I suppose so,” she said, still distracted by the boy’s exclamation. Now the woman’s resemblance to Nash jumped out at her: her black hair and dark eyes...her defined cheekbones. Ruby studied the sturdily built little boy in Nash’s arms. He had the same dark hair and winged brows.

      The girl, however, was fair and slender, with radiant skin and shining pale ringlets that hung to her shoulders. She lifted her curious gaze, and Ruby’s heart stopped.

      Studying the child was like looking at her sister years ago. Her eyes were the same bright cornflower blue, her expression solemn and wary. With a small hand, she reached to grasp her grandmother’s fingers. Apparently the doll and the clothing in the drawers in Ruby’s old room belonged to this child.

      Captivated, Ruby stared. Unexpected tender feelings brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back and retained her composure. The oppressive ache that had been a weight on her heart since the day before eased, and an unfamiliar joy rose inside her.

      She tore her gaze back to the smaller child, keen to recognize a similarity to her sister. Nash’s hair...his eyes....

      “Who is she, Papa?” he asked.

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