Ruth

by Lori Copeland

  Oscar’s grin deflated, his chin sinking down to his chest. “Maybe later?”

  “Of course,” she conceded. Much, much later.

  As the couple strolled off, Ruth pinched Dylan. Hard.

  Though he winced, the marshall kept a pleasant smile on his lips … and pinched her back.

  “Ouch!” She jerked free of his grasp and flounced ahead, pretending to ignore him. The very nerve of Dylan McCall acting as her rescuer!

  His masculine laugh only irritated her more. “Admit it, Ruthie,” he called. “You welcomed the interruption!”

  Ruth’s face burned. “Not by the likes of you!”

  He paused, chuckling as she marched to the punch bowl. She swooped up a cup, dunked it into the bowl, then quickly drank, dribbling red liquid down the front of her best dress in the process. She dropped the cup and swiped at her bodice, then felt punch oozing through her right slipper.

  Her temper soared. It was Dylan’s fault. He made her so mad she couldn’t think straight. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan politely tip his hat and ease into the crowd.

  “Oooooph!” Ruth sank into a nearby chair, steam virtually rolling from the top of her head. How that man infuriated her. If only he weren’t so handsome and charming at times as well… .

  Forever. Whew. The vows the newlyweds had exchanged lingered in Dylan’s mind as he threaded his way through the guests. He paused to speak to the ladies. Lily and Harper bloomed under his attention, but his mind was on the ceremony.

  Forever. The word made a man break out in a cold sweat—at least a man who liked women but didn’t care to tie himself down to any particular one, only one, for the rest of his life. Not unless he was planning to die tomorrow.

  He’d been accused of breaking women’s hearts, and he supposed he had broken his fair share. They could be as pretty as ice on a winter pond or ugly as a mud wasp, and he’d allow them a second glance. Dylan didn’t judge a woman by the way she looked on the outside. He’d learned long ago that the outside didn’t mean much. He’d told someone once that when he met the right woman he’d marry her, but deep down he knew he’d never see the day. There wasn’t a right woman. Not for him. There were just … women. All softness and pretty curves, but inside they weren’t worth a plug nickel. Sara Dunnigan had taught him that. Women were out to use men, use them up for their own purposes. Well, he had his own purposes, and they weren’t to share with any woman.

  The married women turned to watch him walk away; Lily and Harper tittered. Dylan neither welcomed nor resented the attention. A woman’s naive notice made him feel in control. He could always walk away, and he intended to always be able to do just that.

  The receiving line had begun to thin as he approached the newlyweds. He shook hands with Jackson. “You’re a lucky man.”

  The sincerity in his tone wasn’t entirely contrived. Jackson was lucky. Glory was the one woman who could tame the wagon master, and Dylan wished them well. Jackson grinned down at his bride. If ever there was a happy man, Montgomery fit the bill today.

  “It’s your turn next, McCall!”

  “Don’t hold your breath, Montgomery.”

  Dylan leaned in and kissed the bride lightly on the cheek. Glory blushed, edging closer to Jackson. Beaming, Jackson drew her close.

  “That’s my girl. Beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

  Dylan lifted an eyebrow. “Me? A wolf?”

  “The worst,” Jackson confirmed with a sly wink. “Knew that about you right off.”

  The two men laughed.

  The new Mrs. Montgomery frowned. “Jackson—”

  Throwing the marshall a knowing wink, Jackson took his wife’s arm and steered her toward another cluster of well-wishers.

  Dylan milled about for a while, exchanging expected pleasantries and hoping he could leave soon. Events like this weren’t his cup of tea. He spent the majority of his time alone, which he preferred. He was eager to get going to Utah. He would have left last week, but Jackson and Glory had talked him into attending the wedding. Jackson needed a best man, he said, and Dylan had reluctantly agreed, feeling torn between friendship and duty to his job.

  Dylan spotted Ruth with Mayor Hopkins, her cheeks flushed, blue eyes aglow, thick, shiny, coal black hair hanging to her waist, laughing up at him. She’d never looked at Dylan that way … but then he supposed a woman like Ruth wouldn’t. Men like him were loners. They had to be. Keeping the law was a dangerous business. Ruth, even with her independent streak a mile wide, would avoid a man like him, as well she should.

  Dylan had stepped onto the sidewalk when Pastor Siddons threaded his way through the crowd toward him. “Marshall McCall! They’ll be cutting the wedding cake soon. You won’t want to miss that.” The pastor beamed. “Etta Katsky makes the best pastries this side of paradise.”

  Smiling, the marshall acknowledged the invitation. The whole town was friendlier than a six-week-old pup. It was a good place for Ruth and the other girls to settle.

  The two men stood side by side, watching the festivities. Arthur Siddons’s pleasant face beamed. “Nothing like a wedding to make you feel like a young man again.”

  Dylan refused to comment. His gaze followed Ruth as she moved through the crowd. He’d never seen her smile like that, laugh like that, so happy and carefree.

  Arthur looked up at him, a sly grin hovering at the corner of his mouth. “Right pretty sight, wouldn’t you say?”

  Dylan had to agree. “Ruth’s a fine-looking woman. All the girls are.”

  The pastor nodded. “Mother was just saying how nice it is to have young blood in the town. Tom Wyatt and his boys are low-down polecats. The whole town’s known that for years, but I have to say the devil was taken by surprise this time. Had it not been for you and Jackson, those six young women would be working the mines right now, without a hope for the future.”

  Dylan bristled at the thought. “The Wyatts ought to be strung up by their heels.”

  “Yes, many agree, but Wyatt’s not done anything he can be legally prosecuted for. We know he promised the women husbands, but in a court of law he’d say the women, the orphanage, and Montgomery misunderstood. He would eventually set them free, once they worked off their debt to him. But considering the wages he’d pay, that would take a mighty long time. It isn’t the first time he’s used deceit to gain mine workers. Brought eight women out last year, and one by one they escaped. Found one this spring.” The reverend shook his head. “Poor woman didn’t make it.”

  A shadow crossed the marshall’s features. “I thought once that Jackson and Glory had met the same fate.”

  “Yes, Jackson and Glory were fortunate to survive that blizzard.” The pastor beamed. “Wouldn’t have, without Glory’s common sense.”

  “No.” Dylan watched the laughing bride and groom. “She’s quite a woman.”

  Arthur nodded. “Colorado’s rough territory. A man can freeze to death in no time.”

  Sobering, the minister rested his gaze on Mary, who was smiling up at Mayor Hopkins. The couple seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.

  “Now, there’s the one I worry about. The poor thing coughs until she chokes. Won’t be many men who’d want to take on such a responsibility.”

  Dylan agreed. Mary’s asthma would make it difficult for her to find a husband. He looked at Harper and Lily, who were busy setting out platters of golden brown fried chicken. Harper was so independent and quick-tongued it would take a strong man to handle her. Lily would do okay for herself, and Patience wouldn’t have any trouble finding a husband. She was the looker of the bunch.

  His gaze moved back to Ruth. She was now conversing with a tall, lanky man who looked to be somewhere in his late twenties. The couple made a striking pair. The young man’s carrot-colored hair and mahogany eyes complemented Ruth’s black tresses and wide blue eyes. But Ruth was going to be trouble for any man who took her on. She was as prickly as a porcupine—and as quick to raise her defenses. Made a man wonder wha
t was inside her.

  Not him, of course, but some man—some good man looking to settle down.

  Patting his round belly, the pastor chuckled softly as he followed Dylan’s gaze to the couple. “They make a fine-looking pair, don’t they? Conner lost his wife a couple years back. Fine man, Conner Justice, so young to lose a mate. Lost Jenny in childbirth … baby was stillborn. His wife’s death was mighty hard on him. Conner is only now coming back to community socials.”

  Dylan’s gaze narrowed. It appeared to him that Conner Justice was recovering quite nicely. He was standing a bit too close to Ruth for manners. The sound of Ruth’s lilting laughter floated to him, a sound he hadn’t heard often. She was enjoying herself for the first time since he’d met her.

  Well, good for Ruthie. Maybe Conner Justice needed a new challenge, and the saucy brunette would certainly provide him one.

  The pastor patted his belly again. “Well, the bride and groom will be cutting the cake soon.” He stuck his hand out to Dylan. “Guess you’ll be moving on?”

  “I have to be in Utah by the end of the month.”

  “Worst time of the year to travel.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  Dylan preferred to travel in better weather. But when he’d decided to help Jackson deliver the brides to Denver City, he knew he’d be delaying his trip to Utah and would probably face bad weather. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been inconvenienced, nor would it be the last.

  “Take care of yourself,” Pastor Siddons said.

  Dylan smiled. His eyes involuntarily returned to Ruth and Conner, while the pastor wandered toward the cake table. Ruth looked like she was having a fine time.

  “Well, I am, too,” he told himself, but right now he couldn’t have proved it.

  Chapter Two

  Shadows lengthened over the Rockies as the wedding guests danced and laughed the festive afternoon away. A grinning bride and groom, their faces flushed by wind and excitement, cut the wedding cake while the sun sank behind the mountaintops.

  Crimson tinged Glory’s cheeks as she smiled up at her husband and fed him the first bite. With good-natured humor, he fed her a piece; then one of the women invited the guests to step up and eat their fill.

  Ruth felt herself being shuffled along with the crowd. Today’s events had been magnificent—one of the best times she could remember. An aura of love surrounded the newlywed couple, and Ruth allowed the special feelings to seep through her pores. In her life, Ruth had known little love. When Edgar Norris, the only father she’d ever known, took her to the orphanage when his wife died, he’d left Ruth with a glowing promise that he would soon return. To a ten-year-old, soon meant “not very long.” She remembered crying and holding on to his leg, begging him not to leave her. She didn’t see how she could live without Paws—that’s what she called Edgar—to greet her when she came home from school each day.

  But Edgar Norris had lied to her.

  He didn’t come back; Ruth never saw the man again. Five years had gone by, and she didn’t know if Edgar Norris was dead or alive. She made herself believe that she didn’t care, but the Bible said she was to honor father and mother. Her real Mama and Papa died when she was four, and she had been adopted by the Norrises. But she had no idea how to honor a man who had deserted a child he’d promised to raise.

  “What say, little missy? Is this our dance?”

  Ruth froze when she recognized Oscar Fleming’s feisty intonation. Rats. She’d been on the lookout for Oscar all afternoon, terrified he would seek her out. He’d tried to dance with every woman in attendance, including poor Mary, who had finally begged off and slumped down in the nearest chair to catch her ragged breath.

  Summoning a pleasant smile, Ruth whirled, confronting the nuisance. “Why, Mr. Fleming—here you are again.”

  The old man’s eyes twinkled. He opened both scrawny arms and extended them wide. “What say? Saved the best for last?”

  “Oh, Mr. Fleming, I know you must be worn-out—”

  “Oscar! Call me Oscar, my beauty.” He moved in closer. “They’re playing our song!”

  Before Ruth could invent an excuse, Oscar swung her onto the platform and waltzed her around the wooden deck in a breakneck fashion. The old prospector certainly had oomph!

  Ruth hung on to the squatty miner as pins flew out of her hair and landed beneath other dancers’ feet. She flashed a smiling apology to couples who slipped and stumbled when their feet encountered the shiny hair fasteners. One man whirled to denounce her as he helped his partner up from the dance floor.

  “Hee, hee, hee,” Oscar hooted as he cut between two jigging couples, nearly tripping them with his wild maneuverings. “I knew I’d found me a ringtailed molly!”

  This ringtailed molly was about to break her neck! Ruth, not accustomed to dancing, struggled to keep her slippers on her feet and her tangled hair out of her eyes. She caught a brief glimpse of Patience, Lily, Harper, and Mary on the sidelines, holding their hands over their mouths, amusement flashing in their eyes. She managed to get off a silent, beseeching look before Oscar gave her a couple of swift turns and then jumped in the air and clicked his heels.

  “By gum, but you’re a filly!”

  Ruth lamely smiled, anxious for the dance to end. Instead, guitars and banjos shifted into a slow waltz. It took Oscar a couple of beats to make the physical adjustment. He jigged, then jagged, and then grasped her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. His breath was stale and his clothes smelled of sweat. Ruth closed her eyes, praying for deliverance. She opened them again, instinctively searching for Dylan. She found him surrounded by a captive group of women as he leisurely ate a piece of wedding cake and exchanged friendly banter. Typical. Where was the courtly gentleman when she really needed him?

  “You’re one of them orphans Wyatt sent for, aren’t you?”

  Ruth’s thoughts snapped back to Oscar, and her feet tried to keep time with his stomping boots. “Yes—I was on the Montgomery wagon train.”

  “Pity.” The old fellow shook his head. “Wyatt’s a known polecat around these parts. I could have told you him and his boys was up to no good.” He swung her around, then propelled her roughly back into his arms—highly irregular for a waltz, as even Ruth knew.

  “I like your name, Ruthie.”

  “Ruth,” she corrected. “Nobody calls me Ruthie. My name is Ruth.”

  “Like in the Bible.”

  “Like in the Bible—only I’m not nearly as virtuous as that Ruth.”

  Oscar nodded as if that suited him. “You want to be a bride, do ya?”

  Ruth felt heat shinny up the back of her neck. His foregone conclusion that she wanted to be married cheapened her forced decision. She hadn’t wanted to be married; the orphanage had strongly advised her to agree to Wyatt’s offer. She knew now that if a husband had awaited her in Denver City, the marriage would have been short-lived. Once the new groom learned that she was not able to conceive, he would have left for greener pastures. But she had no intention of confiding such personal information to Mr. Fleming. Now if only she could think of some way to abort this dance without hurting the old man’s feelings.

  “Do ya?”

  “Do I what?” she asked sweetly, hoping to change the subject.

  “Do you want to be a bride?”

  “I suppose,” she murmured, giving the expected response, though it wasn’t entirely true.

  “Well, hot diggity dog!”

  Horrified, Ruth watched the prospector jump straight up in the air and click his heels again, then land on both knees in front of her on the wooden platform. He grasped her hand, his rheumy eyes peering intently into hers. The music started to fade and people stood rooted in place, all eyes focused on Oscar Fleming.

  “Ruth …” Oscar paused and scratched his head. Then he brightened. “… whatever your last name is. Will you be my wife?” He grinned, flashing red gums.

  A collective gasp came from the crowd. Ruth heard a drum beating in her ears and re
alized it was her heart. Harper’s distinct giggle filtered through the beat.

  Ruth’s hand came up to her forehead as she tried to form a coherent sentence. Marry Oscar Fleming? A man old enough to be her grandfather! Her senses turned numb. No! She looked around, panic setting in. No!

  But how could she tell Oscar no in front of all these people, people who were most likely his friends?

  Her eyes darted for refuge, but there was none. Patience shook her head vehemently. Lily, Harper, and Mary all indicated the negative with their eyes.

  Oscar peered up at Ruth hopefully.

  “Oscar,” she began, searching for strength and compassion. She didn’t want to hurt the old prospector’s feelings; he knew she had previously been receptive to marriage to a man she’d never met. What answer could she give that wouldn’t wound the poor man’s spirit yet leave no doubt of her refusal?

  “I am very honored …”

  “Hot doggedy!” Oscar bound to his feet and swept her up in his skinny arms, his face ecstatic. Ruth’s eyes grew wide as he whirled her around and around. “I got me a bride!”

  The crowd burst into a smattering of hesitant applause. With Oscar’s declaration, Dylan McCall turned and set his cake plate on the table. A frown creased the corners of his blue eyes.

  “No, Mr. Fleming!” Ruth protested when she realized the old miner had misunderstood. The band swung into an upbeat tune, and dancers flooded the platform to congratulate the newly betrothed couple.

  “But I didn’t …” Ruth protested with each congratulatory slap and sly wink Oscar received. Women stared in pity, and men grinned with an ill-concealed pride.

  “Didn’t think you had it in you, Oscar!”

  “You old goat! Suppose we’re going to be calling you ‘Papa’ before long!”

  The crude remark brought a round of masculine guffaws that shook Ruth to her toes. She broke free of the crowd and ran toward the parsonage, holding a handkerchief to her mouth for fear she was going to be ill. Upon entering the Siddonses’ foyer, she slammed the door behind her and took the stairs two at a time. Marry Oscar Fleming! She couldn’t! She entered the upstairs bedroom and fell across the bed she shared with Patience and sobbed until exhaustion overcame her.