“What are you writing, Everett?” she asked in a soft voice.
He looked up and turned the slate around to show her. Everett had drawn a small tree next to a very large house. On the other side of the house were two figures, one slightly taller than the other.
“It’s me and you,” he pointed to the figures with his small hand and smiled shyly at her.
Ruby pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart flutter. Her throat grew tight and her eyes burned as she tried to blink back tears. “It’s a fine drawing, Everett. I love it.” She crouched down beside the pallet to get a closer look at the slate. He had drawn something next to the figures, but she was unable to make out what it was. She pointed to it. “What’s this?”
“It’s a dog,” he said. “Isaac and Eliza have a dog. He walks to school with us sometimes.”
“His name is Dash, right?” Ruby had seen the black and white dog a couple of times when the Gruby children had come to pick up Everett on their way to school. They lived just over the hill from her farm, and had walked with him before the storms had changed everything. Now, they picked him up at her farm, rather than his former house. The arrangement worked well.
Everett nodded. “Yes, he’s so fast. Do you think that’s why they call him Dash?” His pale brown eyes searched hers for confirmation.
“I do. It’s a clever name.”
Everett turned the slate back around and studied his drawing. “I always wanted a dog of my own,” he said in such a quiet voice, Ruby barely heard him.
“You know what?”
He looked back up at her, his eyes wide with interest. “What?”
“I always wanted a dog too,” she confided.
“Did your pa tell you dogs were stupid too?”
“No...I just wasn’t allowed to have one.” She didn’t want to tell him she had no father. None that she had ever known anyways. Pets of any kind were forbidden at the orphanage where she was raised, and she had been too afraid to ask Cyrus for one. She brushed a stray hair off Everett’s forehead and her heart hurt for the child. She’d ask Mr. Talley about it next time she was in town. Christmas was just around the corner and she would love nothing more than to surprise Everett with a dog of his own.
Her gaze shifted back to the drawing on his slate. She too loved to draw her dreams as a child. Now she drew on scraps of paper when she could, and hid them in the barn. Ruby made a mental note to see how much some parchment and a charcoal pencil would cost. She felt like she had found a kindred spirit in Everett, and wanted to encourage him to continue to dream.
“Is Mr. Parker going to stay with us?”
Everett’s question took her off guard, but of course, the child would have been listening to their earlier conversation. “Yes, just for a while. He’s going to help fix some of the broken things around here.”
“It’s awfully cold in the barn,” Everett frowned. “Maybe he could use one of my blankets.”
Ruby pulled the boy into her arms and held him close. He stiffened at first but then let himself relax in her embrace. She kissed the top of his head. “You are such a good boy, Everett.” The child had next to nothing, yet was willing to give away one of his few possessions to help a stranger. If she’d have been able to have a child, she’d want him to be just like Everett. But you don’t deserve a child, she could hear Cyrus’s voice boom. She closed her eyes and tried to block the painful memories that churned in her head.
“Miss Ruby, why are you crying?”
Ruby’s eyes flew open and her gaze locked with Everett’s. She hadn’t felt him step away. She touched her cheek and her fingers came away wet. She hastily grabbed a corner of her skirt and wiped her face. “I’m sorry, Everett, I’m fine,” she reassured the child, forcing her mouth to smile. “I gave Mr. Parker blankets, so you don’t need to give him yours. But it was awfully nice of you to offer it.”
Mr. Parker! He’d be returning for his meal any minute and she hadn’t finished preparing it.
“Oh goodness, I have no time for wool gathering, I need to get supper finished.” Ruby scrambled to her feet, and grabbed what was left of the salt pork out of the cabinet. She cut it into slices and put it in the pan to fry. While it was browning, she mixed the batter for corn cakes. She flipped the pork and while she waited for the other side to brown, she stepped behind the curtain. Cyrus had thought mirrors were only for the vain, but Ruby had a small hand mirror that she kept hidden in her drawer. She pulled it out and gasped when she saw her reflection. Her normally tight chignon had come loose and strands of hair had escaped everywhere. Ruby smoothed it back and hastily re-pinned it.
By the time she returned to the cook stove, the salt pork was just beginning to burn and she chastised herself for her vanity. She didn’t know why it had mattered to her whether her hair was in place or not, she was a plain woman and quite certain Mr. Parker wouldn’t see her as anything but plain.
There was a soft knock at the door and Ruby smoothed her skirt before going to open it.
“Evening, ma’am,” Mr. Parker stood in the doorway with his hat in his hands and she stepped aside to let him in. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s almost ready.” Heat flooded her cheeks and Ruby couldn’t help but watch him as he took off his coat and hung it up. He was tall, but not overly so, and lean, but his shoulders were wide and looked muscular. His thick brown hair curled over his collar and when he turned around, she quickly averted her gaze, avoiding his eyes. Ruby had a strange feeling in her stomach, one she’d never felt before, and wondered if it had anything to do with the handsome man standing on the other side of the room. He crossed over to where Everett sat on his pallet, and Ruby watched them out of the corner of her eye while she made the corn cakes.
“What have you got there?” Mr. Parker asked Everett, whose hand was clenched in a tight fist.
Everett studied the man crouched in front of him for a long moment, then slowly uncurled his fingers, revealing his little top in the palm of his hand.
Ruby looked at the two of them and said a little prayer, thinking how blessed she was that she hadn’t taken any of the letters that came to town.
Chapter Six
Cullen walked around the farm and made a note of all the repairs that needed to be done. He was appalled at the condition of the outbuildings and most of all, the house. He set about repairing the chinking on the outside of the small house with bits of wood he found in the barn, hoping it would help abate at least some of the winter wind and cold. He wondered again what had drawn him to stop in Last Chance instead of just riding straight to Dakota Territory. He could have made it in a little better than a week. His mind wandered to the woman inside and her son, who had the same haunted look in his eyes as she did. Maybe it was some sort of penance for all the poor choices he’d made in his life.
He came around from the back of the house and stopped when he saw Mrs. Fulton and the boy hitching their horse to the sled he’d unloaded when he arrived. He watched her clip a rope to the horse’s halter while her son climbed into the sled. She glanced at him and hesitated a moment. He noticed how worn her dark coat was and couldn’t help but wonder if she was cold. She acknowledged him with a slight nod of her head and led the horse and sled down the road.
Cullen briefly wondered where she was going, and why she walked beside the horse, rather than ride it. Not your concern. He shrugged and went back into the barn to find more wood he could use for chinking. There weren’t a lot of scraps, and he suspected she’d burned most of what scrap there might have been already. The small pile of wood he’d stacked against the barn would not last through the week, and he made plans to cut more later that day. Right now, he just wanted to find enough to finish chinking the outside of the house without having to use what was in the wood pile.
He glanced around the barn. It was disorderly, but the stalls were clean and there was a decent supply of hay and feed. A couple of hens wandered in through t
he open door and clucked softly at him. They stared up at him, cocking their heads from side to side as if trying to figure out what he was doing and who he was. He’d seen the small coop when he first rode up to the farm, and rebuilding it was another item on his ever-growing list. There would be no shortage of things for him to do while he was here.
Not finding what he was looking for, Cullen looked up at the hayloft. He had set up a bed of sorts in a large pile of hay that filled most of the loft, but hadn’t checked to see what else might be up there. He climbed the ladder and looked around. There were a few chunks of wood scattered about under the small, dirty window in the gable wall. Cullen went to pick them up when something in the shadows of the far corner of the loft caught his eye. He walked over to see what it was and found a worn leather trunk, covered with a thick layer of dust. What was that doing up here?
Cullen leaned over to inspect it closer and noticed small fingerprints in the dust near the edge of the lid. The leather was scuffed and peeling and steel nail heads once created a pattern around the front and sides of the trunk, although very few remained intact. He knew he shouldn’t open it, that it was wrong, but a whisper told him he needed to. The broken latch reinforced the whisper, and he gingerly lifted the lid. The trunk was nearly half-full of paper in many different shapes and sizes. But it wasn’t the variety, or even the quantity of paper, that drew his attention. It was the drawings on them that mesmerized him.
He carefully lifted out one of the larger sheets and studied it. It was a pencil sketch of a woman gazing tenderly at an infant cradled in her arms. The detail in the woman’s face was extraordinary. Cullen pored over the rest of the drawings in quiet amazement. Many of them were of a woman and an infant or child in various poses, but there were also incredible sketches of landscapes, flowers, and animals. Whoever had drawn them had an undeniable gift. Could Mrs. Fulton have drawn these? Cullen wasn’t sure but he had a feeling there was a lot more to her than the quiet, withdrawn woman he’d seen thus far. There was something about her that intrigued him and made him want to get to know her better.
He returned all of the drawings to the trunk and carefully closed the lid. He wanted to finish the house before Mrs. Fulton came back from wherever she had gone.
With one final swing of the mallet, the last bit of chinking on the outside of the house was filled. He would still need to fill in the smaller gaps with clay, but it was a significant improvement already. The rhythm of approaching horse hooves drew his attention, and he watched as Ruby led the chestnut gelding toward the house. The boy sat high in the sled and Cullen squinted to see what he was sitting on. It was a pile of cut wood. Had she cut that? She must have, where else would she have gotten it? The muscles in his jaw tightened as they came to a stop next to the barn.
“What are you doing?” His eyes narrowed, and he strode toward her, his fingers curling at his sides. He was supposed to cut and gather the wood, that is why she hired him. What kind of man would let a woman do a man’s work? Her husband might have been that kind of man, but he most certainly was not.
Cullen stopped next to the sled and pointed at the wood piled high inside. “Did you do this?”
Mrs. Fulton lifted her head, and Cullen watched the color drain from her face. She took a step backward and slid a quick glance at the boy.
“Everett, go in the house,” she said in a shrill voice.
Cullen watched in bewilderment as the child glanced at him with wide, frightened eyes and then ran toward the house. He pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead.
Mrs. Fulton flinched. She had her elbows pressed tightly against her sides and her eyes seemed overly bright. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out, and a faint line appeared between her eyebrows. She took another small step backwards, not taking her eyes off him for a moment.
Cullen’s chest tightened and his throat grew thick. She thought he was going to strike her.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. His cheeks burned with shame. “I didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off, unsure what he could say to remedy the situation. His stomach churned in disgust and his shoulders slumped. He’d never struck a woman in his life.
“I...I just went to get some wood,” she choked out and Cullen could see she was struggling not to cry, which only served to make him feel even worse.
He stared at the slight woman standing next to the sled, and it was then he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. Deep brown eyes that stared back at him warily. Whatever she’d been through before he arrived had not been good. There was a certain strength about her, yet at the same time an almost childlike vulnerability, Cullen realized, feeling an odd tug at his heart. She clasped her hands together, and winced almost imperceptibly. Almost.
“May I see your hands?” He asked in as soft and gentle a tone as he could muster, and took a careful step toward her. Then another, and another until he was standing directly in front of her.
Her brows furrowed and she hesitated for a long moment before she slowly lifted her hands, her eyes remaining downcast. He took them in his own and gently turned them over. The palms of her hands were scraped nearly raw. Cullen recalled how she’d winced when she touched the hot cup of coffee and knew she’d brought the wood that he had stacked when he’d arrived. His hands were big, rough and calloused, whereas her hands were small and soft. She had long, graceful fingers and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were responsible for the drawings he’d seen in the trunk. They looked like the sort of hands that should be drawing or caressing a child, he thought of the many illustrations he’d seen, not for cutting and hauling wood.
“Do you have any salve?”
Her gaze snapped up and surprise registered on her face.
“In the house,” she said in a quiet voice.
They stood staring at each other, his fingers still wrapped around her hands. The world around them ceased to exist for the briefest moment, then she blinked and pulled her hands away. Her face flooded with color and she stepped back, tripping on a stray piece of wood. Cullen shot out a hand and steadied her. She gave him a tentative smile before turning toward the house.
They stepped inside and Mrs. Fulton lit the lantern on the table, illuminating the little boy who was curled up on the pallet, fast asleep. Cullen again thought about how quiet and subdued he was, especially for a child so young. His gaze shifted and he saw Mrs. Fulton struggling with the lid of a small jar of what he assumed was the salve he had asked her about.
“Let me get that for you,” he stepped over to where she stood and took the jar from her. It opened easily in his hand and she reached to take it back. He pulled it away and motioned for her to sit at the table.
“Let me,” Cullen said, and pulled the chair out for her.
She tilted her head and looked at him with an odd expression on her face, but sat down. He moved the other chair over and sat in front of her. He coated his finger with the salve and reached for her hand. She stiffened and shook her head.
“There’s no need to do that, Mr. Parker,” her cheeks turned pink and she pulled her hand back. “I am capable of…”
Cullen gently grasped her hand and pulled it toward him. “Yes, I’m sure you are,” he agreed and gingerly spread the ointment over her wounded palm. When he was done with that one, he reached for the other. She watched him in stunned silence.
“Your boy is sure quiet,” Cullen remarked, screwing the lid back on the jar.
She looked at him blankly, then her eyes grew wide. “Oh no,” she gave her head a slight shake. “He’s not my son.” Her gaze shifted to the child and she looked at him with the same tender expression he’d seen on the drawing of the woman and child.
Cullen frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Mrs. Fulton sighed and traced a scratch on the top of the table with her fingertip. She explained to him how Everett came to be in her care, while he listened intently.
“So, how long was he alone with her before he came to get you?”
She shrugged, “I’m not really sure, but he has nightmares nearly every night.”
That would explain the dark circles under her eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. “Where did they live? That must have been a long walk for such a young child.”
“Their house is about halfway to town from here,” she said. “Where the sawmill is. In fact, that’s where I was today,” she gave him a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. “There wasn’t enough wood. Cyrus hadn’t gotten around to cutting it before…” she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, “the storms. I thought maybe there would be some wood there, and because Everett is staying here…”
“You thought it would be all right to use it,” he finished for her. Her eyes snapped to his and she looked at him with a mixture of regret and fear.
“Should I not have done that? I didn’t mean to steal it,” her chin quivered. “I just thought…,” she trailed off and glanced at Everett, who rolled onto his back and let out a soft moan.
Cullen’s throat grew tight and he ran his hand across his mouth. What this woman had been through in the last few months was more than he could imagine. “Mrs. Fulton, you didn’t steal anything,” he said. She looked up and relief spread across her face. “You are caring for their son. However…I must insist that from this point forward, you allow me to haul the wood.”
Her cheeks flushed a bright pink and her smile lit up her face in a way that made her look beautiful in the glow of the lantern. Cullen felt that odd tug on his heart again.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker.”
“Please, call me Cullen.”
A Groom for Ruby Page 4