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 he’d always wanted. He’d been preoccupied with the business end of things and the work. He’d figured there would be plenty of time for them to grow closer once the ranch was thriving. At least that’s what he’d thought until their life together had been cut short.
He’d already learned enough about Ruby to know there’d be no avoiding her if she was determined to ask questions and get answers. He steeled himself for the inevitable.
* * *
Ruby was smart enough to know the men worked till dusk before stopping to eat, so she waited until she was sure they’d be coming before she set food on the table.
The back door opened and the three men entered the kitchen. They had already removed their hats and were freshly washed. Their gazes shot directly to the table laden with steaming beans, biscuits and fried chicken.
Nash introduced the hands. “This here’s Silas Dean.”
The middle-aged man nodded politely. “Miss.”
“And Dugger Wiley.”
The tall young man gave her a friendly smile. “How do, Miss Dearing.”
“Call me Ruby.” She gestured to the table. “Sit wherever you like.”
They seated themselves and Nash picked up the platter of chicken.
“I never cut up a chicken before,” she apologized. “The pieces look pretty odd.”
“Don’t make much difference to how they taste,” Silas assured her.
“I found some recipes in Mama’s handwriting, but nothing about chicken. I guess most people just know how to cook them and don’t write it down.”
“My mama always says you can’t learn till you try,” Dugger noted, and gave her an appreciative nod.
The beans were still a little hard. She hadn’t quite figured that out, either. But she could make golden, flaky biscuits with one arm tied behind her back. She’d found honey and poured some into a small jar, which she passed around.
The men didn’t complain a whit about the food, eating as though they’d been served a feast. She got up and poured each of them coffee. “I found a jar of peaches for dessert.”
She had sliced peaches portioned into four dishes when she looked up and noted Nash’s expression. He was looking at the jar with a bleak expression. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Were these special? Perhaps I should have asked.”
He reached for his dish. “They’re just peaches.”
Dugger finished first. “Thank you for a fine meal, Miss Dearing.”
The others followed his lead and trailed out the back door. The last one to the door, Nash turned back.
She paused in picking up plates and tentatively met his gaze.
“Thanks.” He shut the door behind him.
“That must’ve pained you,” she said to the closed door. She doggedly washed the dishes, wiped the table and hung the towels to dry, before pouring a pitcher of water and heading upstairs, exhausted.
The silent house yawned in the falling darkness. In her mother’s old room, Ruby stripped off her clothing, washed her face and sponged her body before unfolding a cotton gown and dropping it over her head. She touched the fabric, brought it to her face and inhaled, hoping to find a trace of her mother in its clean folds. The scents of lavender and sunshine were pale reminders. She sat in the corner chair and surveyed the room she’d so carefully scrubbed and waxed.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” The silent room absorbed her voice. “I wanted to make it up to you—all the years I was gone. I hoped you’d forgive me and let me try to start over with both you and Pearl.” Ruby let her gaze touch the molding around the ceiling. “If you missed me half as much as I miss you now, I know how bad it was. I’m glad you had Pearl.”
She didn’t want to think about how hard it must have been on her ill mother when Pearl was killed. “Your room looks real pretty. I’m going to get the rest of the house just the way you like it, too.”
When she could no longer keep her eyes open, Ruby stretched out on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
In the glow of a lantern, Nash opened the stall door and studied the magnificent horse Ruby called the Duchess. It was his job to know horses, and he recognized this breed from a livestock exhibition he’d attended a few years ago. While they weren’t as perfectly proportioned as Thoroughbreds, Barbs were agile and fast, second only to Arabians as one of the oldest breeds in existence. Nash had saved for a long time to buy a Thoroughbred to improve his stock. He knew an expensive horse when he saw one.
Contemplating how Pearl’s sister had come by this one puzzled him to no end. He didn’t know of anyone in the country who bred or sold them. He ran a palm down over the mare’s bony forehead, and she twitched an ear.
Everything he thought he’d known about Ruby Dearing was being turned upside down. Pearl had never spoken ill of her, but Pearl never spoke ill of anyone. A few years after their father had deserted them, Ruby had hightailed it out of their lives as well. What drove a person to leave their family behind and disappear?
