My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  Neither of them was the man Rebecca had seen.

  Bilson, the banker, perched behind the counter, stamping a paper for Eb Cook with the sort of precision he applied to his fastidious appearance. Bilson slicked back his goose-gray hair with pomade and kept his clothes pressed and free of lint or dirt, making him the fanciest gander in Owyhee County. He looked up with a professional smile. “Good afternoon, Deputy. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  It couldn’t wait that long. “Actually, I have a question. Was there another customer here a minute ago? No need for alarm, but I’m looking for someone.”

  Bilson tipped his head to the side. “Banking is a private business, Deputy. I couldn’t possibly say who conducts transactions here.”

  “I ain’t no banker, so I can say, Deputy,” Donald Evans said. “Wilkie was here makin’ a deposit. So was that hauler you hired to sit at the jail.”

  Bilson cringed. “Mr. Evans, please show some discretion.”

  Tad rubbed the back of his neck. Neither the town barber nor Jeroboam Jones were in the Gang of Four. “The fellow I’m looking for is big. Broad shoulders.”

  Eb Cook pocketed the paper Bilson had just stamped. “Orr was here. He’s a big fella.”

  He was, but the justice of the peace wasn’t it, either. “Anyone else?”

  “A few fellas left when I came in,” Evans added. “And Flick Dougherty.”

  “Dougherty?” He’d been thick with Ralph White, the man Dottie ran away with nine months ago. Dougherty hadn’t been around much lately, but miners came and went. Nevertheless, Dougherty was muscular and big boned, which fit Rebecca’s description.

  The thought that someone he knew—not well, but nonetheless was acquainted with—could be in the Gang of Four soured his stomach.

  “Dougherty was all smiles.” Eb Cook rocked on his heels. “He withdrew two dollars to send to his mother.”

  Bilson purpled. “Mr. Cook, banking is a private matter!”

  “I can’t help overhearing,” Eb protested.

  Tad stepped forward. “Where’d he go? The post office, maybe?”

  The men all shrugged.

  “What about the other customers you mentioned? Were they big? Did you know them?”

  Bilson sighed. “Since they weren’t customers, I suppose it’s acceptable to inform you they were inebriated and wanted to exchange small coins for larger denominations, but I wouldn’t call them big, per se.”

  And they’d been together, not alone. Flick must have been the man Rebecca saw. Whether or not he was in the Gang of Four or just resembled one of them had yet to be determined. “Thanks, gentlemen. Much appreciated.”

  On the way to the post office, Tad’s gaze assessed everyone on the street, but none looked like Flick Dougherty. No one at the post office had seen him, either.

  Tad stopped in at the mercantile, the tanner’s, Wilkie’s barbershop, Modine’s saloon, and the Idaho Hotel before returning to the livery, shaking his head.

  Rebecca was still inside the barn, brushing Madge’s gray coat. Pa stood at her shoulder, nodding. “You’re a natural. You must have grown up with animals.”

  “I had a sidesaddle before the war and drove the wagon a few times, but I was never the one to feed or care for the horses.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. You’re doing fine. Now try short strokes, ear to her backside. She likes that.”

  “Is that good, Madge? You like that?” She smiled at the creature. Then her gaze lifted and met Tad’s. “Anything?”

  “The men in the bank said a local fellow, Flick Dougherty, stopped in, and he possibly fits your description. I looked all over town for him but couldn’t find him.”

  “You don’t think it’s him. I can tell.”

  Tad puffed out a breath. “He withdrew two dollars to send to his mother, which isn’t much cash for a man who robs cargo wagons and stagecoaches.”

  “I don’t imagine he’d bother with a bank, either.” The rhythm of her brushstrokes slowed. Madge leaned into Rebecca, reminding her to keep going.

  “He may not be in the Gang—he might look like the one who…was familiar, but if Flick shows his face in town again, I’ll question him.”

  Pa’s gnarled hand landed on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, Becky. Tad’ll find the Gang sooner than later. Now, I need the smithy to look at some mule shoes, but when you finish with Madge there and go home, tell that landlady of yours howdy for me, will you?”

  “Will do, Uncle Giff. Thanks for the company.” She waved as Pa exited.

  “Becky, huh? I thought you didn’t like being called that.” Tad shoved his hands in his pockets.

  She resumed brushing, and Madge shut her eyes under Rebecca’s ministrations. “It’s just that no one’s ever called me Becky. But I don’t mind your pa having a special name for me.”

  “So you don’t want me calling you Becky, then?” He was teasing, but Rebecca’s face looked about to crumple.

  “I’m sorry I sent you on a goose chase.”

  “It wasn’t any such thing. You’re a witness and your information is invaluable. In fact, when Flick comes through, maybe you could give him another look.”

  When her eyes watered, he took the brush from her hand, tossed it to the straw, and enveloped her hand in both of his. “Hey now, are you worried if the Gang sees you they’ll remember you? They don’t know you or where you live, though. They just wanted your cash.”

  “They might remember me. The boy read the envelopes of Theodore’s letters, so he saw my name. It wouldn’t be hard to find me.” She swiped her eyes. “But that’s not why I’m teary. I’m grateful you believe me, is all.”

  Tad’s gut squeezed into a ball. He wanted to pull her in for a comforting embrace, but instead, he clutched her fingers, an action he hoped was comforting but cousin-like. “Of course I believe you.”

  Rebecca gazed up at him with moist eyes.

  Madge leaned into them, warm and heavy. Rebecca released his hands and bent for the brush. “She’s not done being brushed, I guess. Sorry, Madge.”

  Thanks a lot, Madge. You interrupted a tender moment, here.

  Except Madge had actually done him a favor. She’d saved him from making a fool of himself. Holding Rebecca’s hand, cousin-like? Sure. Nothing questionable about him holding his accidental wife’s hand and wanting to hug her. All he needed was for Theodore to walk into the livery and take another swing at him.

  A form darkened the door. Theodore? No, someone squatter. “Ulysses? Howdy.”

  “Deputy. Why, Miz Rebecca, I didn’t expect to see you today.” Ulysses bent at the waist, as if he were a knight of old greeting his lady on a field of honor.

  All traces of her tears were gone. “How are you, Ulysses?”

  Bless her for not shrinking from Ulysses’s antics. The miner was lonely, and sometimes he gave the ladies too much attention. Tad knew something himself about how loneliness influenced a person’s behavior. Chasing Dottie those months ago, for one. Answering an ad in a matrimonial magazine, for another.

  But that had been different. He was ready for a wife, family, and a home with roots, and the way he’d been drawn to the matrimonial magazine that day, it was like it was part of a bigger plan. Clearly not, though, because he was standing in the barn wanting to hug a woman who was not-really-his-wife, with Ulysses watching like a contented pup.

  “I got news, Deputy.” Ulysses’s smile fell. “Piece haulers just rode in. The Gang o’ Four met ’em about two miles down the way. The fellers were armed but no match for the Gang.”

  Again.

  Could Flick Dougherty have had time to rob folks and then patronize the bank? It was possible, if he hurried. Two miles went a lot faster on a horse than a loaded wagon.

  Then again, it was unlikely. Visiting the bank to make a withdrawal wouldn’t achieve anything, except giving Flick an alibi.

  Tad could figure it out later. He tossed a saddle over Solomon’s back.

  “You’re going aft
er them.” Rebecca chased him.

  The Gang had to be stopped. She knew it as well as he did, but the tense set of her shoulders and her white knuckles spoke to her fear.

  “Their tracks will be fresh.” He kept a saddlebag of rations ready just in case something like this happened, so he grabbed it and secured it to Solomon’s saddle. “Ulysses, wait for my pa to return, tell him where I am, and then escort Miss Rice home, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Deputy.” Ulysses saluted. “Forgot to mention, a few fellers are ready to go with you, seein’ as the sheriff’s not back yet. Ahab Orr and Jeroboam Jones are gatherin’ at the hotel.”

  Tad nodded at Ulysses and smiled at Rebecca in a way he hoped comforted her, cousin-to-cousin. His foot was in the stirrup when Rebecca reached for his sleeve.

  “Be careful.”

  Her lips trembled. So did the fingers that clutched the green plaid of his shirt. Tad yearned to reassure her everything would be well, to squeeze her hand again, but he hadn’t the time—or the right. That was Theodore’s job.

  And this was his.

  “I will. Don’t fret, Rebecca.” He mounted Solomon and smiled at her again, but his face fell the moment he was out of her sight. He didn’t like thinking about Theodore comforting her. Not with his words, nor his arms.

  And that put Tad in a whole heap of trouble.

  It had been two whole days since Tad rode out with his small posse, and there hadn’t been a word. Rebecca wandered to the mercantile, where Theodore and Corny bent over a bolt of heavy wool fabric. The warm-looking material reminded Rebecca that Tad had ridden off without a bedroll—a clear indication he’d planned to return before nightfall.

  But he hadn’t. Her mind slipped to fearful thoughts while she prayed and battled to trust God, finding little distraction in her chores. Twice a day, she’d marched to the livery seeking news, but Uncle Giff didn’t seem concerned at the lack of information. Just now, he’d patted her hand and said, “Don’t fret, Becky.”

  But she couldn’t help it. She strode to the mercantile counter. “He’s still not back.”

  Theodore glanced up from the wool. “Who’s not back yet?”

  Rebecca stopped midway through loosening her bonnet strings. Tad’s name died on her lips as she recalled Theodore’s face when she’d run out of the mercantile when she saw Flick Dougherty. “The posse.”

  Cornelia glanced up. “Still out chasin’ tracks, I guess.”

  Theodore turned to the shelves of fabric. “Say, Corny, these haven’t sold. Any idea why?”

  “This one is too expensive, I think, but it’s so wonderful someone will take it, I’m sure.” With reverent fingers, the dainty young woman touched a bolt of cobalt and robin’s egg blue striped satin. “But the yellow calico is rough and makes me itch whenever I take it down for a customer. One touch and no one wants it.”

  Rebecca froze, still as ice. Tad was in the wilderness hunting armed robbers, and Theodore and Cornelia talked scratchy calico? Didn’t they care about their neighbors or the danger they placed themselves in to protect the people of the county? She was about to say something when the bell over the mercantile door sounded. She spun, praying it was Tad.

  Mrs. Horner shut the door behind her and smiled. “Good afternoon.”

  Rebecca drew closer as coughs racked Mrs. Horner’s slender frame. Her landlady hadn’t been out of the house since Rebecca moved in, due to her lingering illness. “Should you be out, Mrs. Horner? I can get whatever you need.”

  Mrs. Horner swiped her watering eyes with a lace-edged hankie. “I couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. I needed a walk.”

  Rebecca understood the woman’s need for fresh scenery. She wouldn’t mind one now, and she’d only been in the mercantile two minutes—but that had to do with Theodore and Cornelia’s lack of concern for the posse more than anything else. In the past two days, she’d explained about seeing a man named Flick Dougherty who looked like one of the Gang of Four, but had little opportunity to speak to either Theodore or Cornelia about anything of substance.

  And she really must have a talk with Cornelia, assuring Theodore’s employee that Rebecca was not going to take her job and wished to be friends. It would have been nice to talk to Theodore, too, but the past two evenings, he’d dined with Cornelia’s family since Rebecca “was taken care of at the boardinghouse.”

  If he’d come calling, she would have been thinking about the posse, anyway. Rebecca took her landlady’s arm. “I’ll join you, unless you need me, Theodore.”

  “Not in the least.”

  And he clearly didn’t, the way he and Cornelia adjusted bolts of fabric and returned to talking about texture and pricing. Rebecca led her landlady to the porch.

  Mrs. Horner eyed Rebecca like she was wearing her bonnet backward. “Why’d you drag me back outside? What’s the matter?”

  “Tad, of course. I just checked with Uncle Giff, and he’s still not back. That’s what you came to find out, isn’t it?”

  “Well, no. I came for salt.”

  Rebecca rubbed her forehead. Didn’t anyone care about Tad? “He should be back by now. I mean they. The posse. Uncle Giff doesn’t seem concerned, and Theodore cares more about his calico.”

  Mrs. Horner frowned. “You didn’t go to Theodore with your concerns, did you?”

  “I told him the posse isn’t back. Everyone wants a report, don’t they?”

  Mrs. Horner burst into laughter, which turned into another coughing fit. Rebecca patted her landlady’s back but couldn’t help the prickles of irritation needling her flesh. What was so funny? She’d ask, once Mrs. Horner recovered. “Need a fresh handkerchief?”

  “What I needed was a good laugh, and you gave it to me. Showin’ Theodore you’re worried about Tad? That’s a good one.”

  Rebecca’s arms folded. “Why wouldn’t I apprise him? He and Tad are family.”

  “They’re cubs fightin’ for their place in the wolf pack, is what they are. Put a female in the mix and whoo-ee!” Her hands waved in the air. “First Dottie, now you.”

  Ulysses paused on the street below the porch, drawn by Mrs. Horner’s enthusiastic waving. He must have mistaken Mrs. Horner’s wave for a greeting, because he offered a sly smile and tipped the brim of his hat. “Howdy, l-adies.”

  The way he said it, drawing out the l sound, set Mrs. Horner laughing again. “Aw, go on, Ulysses. I told you already, I ain’t marryin’ you.”

  He didn’t seem bothered. “How ‘bout you, Miz Rebecca?”

  “I’ve already got one husband too many, thank you,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Ulysses was laughing so hard he had to clutch his belly. Mrs. Horner swiped her eyes again but not from coughing. And Rebecca’s face heated like a griddle.

  Mrs. Horner made a tutting sound with her tongue once Ulysses moved on. “No harm meant, dearie. Don’t be angry.”

  “At that?—whatever it was with Ulysses? Hardly. But Tad being missing after riding after four armed criminals is not amusing. Nor is your suggestion that I’m like Dottie. I’m not. I’m not trying to play cousins against one another.”

  Mrs. Horner tipped her head down and blinked up at Rebecca.

  Rebecca’s anger curdled in her stomach, and a fresh wave of heat suffused her face. Had she made things worse for Tad and Theodore’s relationship? She’d wanted to make it better, to be a bridge of peace, but she’d dashed off to Tad without explanation when she saw that Flick Dougherty, who resembled the member from the Gang. She’d later clarified what happened to Theodore, of course, but she could never take back the fact that she’d caused Theodore distress and fed his insecurities. Nor did it help that she kept announcing her thoughts were on Tad and the posse.

  She rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. I made a mistake. Several mistakes, I think. It’s been difficult in the mercantile. Cornelia hasn’t been welcoming—”

  “Who?”

  “Cornelia Cook. Redheaded employee, just now complaining about scratchy cali
co?”

  “Oh, you mean Corny.”

  “She likes to be called Cornelia.”

  “Does she now?” Mrs. Horner’s brows rose. “Well, she’s frustrated, is all.”

  “Why? Theodore shows no signs of planning to let her go from his employ.”

  “Keepin’ her job might not be what’s stuck in her craw. She’s not the little whippersnapper she used to be. She may be feeling things she doesn’t know what to do with yet, like the itch to start her own life. Maybe she’s sweet on someone who doesn’t know she’s alive, and that can make a woman ornery. Don’t take it personal-like. It’s better to assume people’s antics have nothing to do with you unless you have the facts, or you’ll be shouldering the weight of the world.” Mrs. Horner patted Rebecca’s arm. “Now, I’d like to get that salt and go home, so I can put my feet up.”

  Rebecca escorted her back inside. While Theodore assisted Mrs. Horner, Rebecca removed her bonnet and tied her apron around her waist. She’d made a commitment to Theodore. She needed to show she was invested, so she set about tidying the store.

  After Cornelia had gone home for lunch and no customers milled the mercantile, Rebecca cleared her throat. “Theodore? I’d like to apologize.”

  “About the line of credit you started for Mrs. Evans? No need. She paid half of it this morning before you came in, so now she’s only in debt for a nickel.”

  “That’s not it.” Maybe she should be sorrier about giving Mrs. Evans credit, but she couldn’t regret finding a way for the family to eat. “I’m sorry I ran to Tad without pausing to explain. I was in a hurry, you see—”

  “You wanted him to catch the man you thought was in the Gang. Time was of the essence. You already explained everything.” Theodore turned away to shelve coffee cans.

  “But what I didn’t tell you—what I should have told you—is that my pa was a sheriff, and he was shot dead while out on a posse.”