She looked as though at any moment she might break down and cry. But to her credit she kept her composure. Barely. “You have nothing here I need,” she said through clenched teeth.
“That’s fine. I’ll say good-night, then, ma’am. Night, Beau.”
He closed the door to his room, leaving the jail and its occupants in darkness.
For long minutes Ruby stood very still, fighting the sense of rising panic that threatened to choke her. The darkness was like a shroud, blotting out the light, the warmth. Cutting off her life. She was suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand the thought of being locked away in the darkness.
She clutched the bars of her cell as wave after wave of terror rose up like bile in her throat.
A sob was wrenched from her throat. Her voice came out in a strangled cry. “No. Please, Sister Clothilde. No more. I’ll be good. I’ll...”
They were the last words she uttered before she slipped bonelessly to the floor of her cell. Where she lay, still and pale and unmoving.
Quent pried off his boots and unfastened his gun belt. Setting his pistol beside his pillow, he blew out the lantern and flopped down on the bed.
After all the hours he’d put in, he should have fallen asleep instantly. But sleep eluded him. Instead, all he could think of was the woman in the next room. Lord deliver him from petty thieves and drunken cowboys. All Ward and Boyd Barlow had cost him was some blood. But Ruby Jewel was costing him sleep. And a whole lot more.
He didn’t want to think about her lying on a cot in the jail. Didn’t want to think about the way her lips had trembled while she held back her tears. Tears. It was a female trick. A ploy that twisted in a man’s gut and made him feel guilty even when he’d done nothing wrong.
It occurred to Quent that the woman in his cell was a mystery. She dressed like a harlot, and certainly flirted with all the skill of a soiled dove. But it had seemed to him, when he’d kissed her, that Ruby Jewel had had little experience at kissing. And what a kiss. Just thinking about it made his heart pound like a man being chased by a gang of horse thieves.
If he was going to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit that part of Ruby’s appeal was the fact that she was so damnably unpredictable. A wild woman one minute, a trembling milkmaid the next. Just who and what was she?
Why would an heir to Onyx Jewel’s fortune resort to stealing worthless trinkets? But then, why did anyone steal? The answer came at once. To fill a need. What was the need in Ruby Jewel’s life that needed filling? Here was a woman who seemed to have everything in the world. The face of a Madonna, the lush body of a temptress and the fearless nerves of a born villain.
It was obvious that the person she showed the world was a sham. There was a very private, secret Ruby hidden deep inside.
Quent had a sudden burning desire to know that other Ruby. A dangerous thing for a man in his position. After all, he was a man of the law. And she was, without a doubt, a thief. And not a very good one.
“Marshal. Marshal Regan.”
He pressed an arm over his eyes and tried to ignore Beau’s shouts. “Go to sleep, you fool,” he growled.
“Marshal. Come quick,” Beau called.
“Dammit man, I’ve had enough for one day. Now, stop that hollering.” He rolled over, trying to make himself comfortable in the narrow bed.
“Marshal, it’s Miss Ruby. I can’t see in the dark, but I think something awful’s happened to her. You’d better get in here.”
Swearing under his breath, Quent rolled from the bed and lit the lantern. He strode barefoot into the jail, the lantern in one hand, his pistol in the other. The sight that greeted him had his heart stopping.
Ruby was lying as still as death on the floor of her cell.
After unlocking the door, Quent dropped to his knees and held the lantern aloft.
“Is she dead?” Beau asked.
Quent touched a hand to her throat. “She’s alive. She must have fainted.”
“Never saw a woman faint before,” Beau said, grasping the bars of his cell. “She sure looks pale. What’re you going to do, Marshal?”
Quent lifted her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. “I don’t know yet.”
“If you need me to go for Doc Prentice, just say the word.”
“I doubt you’d get beyond the saloon, Beau,” he snapped irritably. “Go on back to sleep now.”
Quent carried Ruby to his room, where he laid her gently on his bed. He sat beside her and took her hands in his. They were cold as ice. He wrapped her in his blankets, then tossed a log on the hot coals in the stove. When the fire was blazing, he returned to her side and began to gently rub her hands.
She was so pale, it alarmed him. He touched a hand to her throat and felt a wild, erratic pulse. Wherever she had gone in her mind, it was a place that was so frightening, her only escape had been into unconsciousness.
“Ruby.” He watched her lids. They didn’t move.
He leaned close, shaking her gently. “Ruby.”
Her lids fluttered. then opened. For a moment she seemed confused. Then, as the cobwebs cleared, she struggled to sit up.
“No.” He pressed her back against the pillow. “Lie here awhile. I’d rather not have you faint again.”
“Faint?” she said indignantly. “I do not faint. Ever.”
“Whatever you call it, you were lying on the floor of your cell. Has this happened before?” he demanded.
She swallowed. “Of course not.”
“Why do I think you’re not telling me the truth, Ruby?”
She couldn’t bear the intensity of that look. To avoid it, she closed her eyes a moment. But when she opened them, he was still there, watching her closely.
“I’d like you to drink this.” From the table beside his bed he lifted a tumbler filled with amber liquid.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Whiskey.”
She started to shake her head, but he pressed it to her mouth and muttered, “Trust me. It’ll help.”
She had no chance to refuse. And though it burned a path of fire down her throat, causing her eyes to water, she managed to drink it.
He stood and crossed the room, to give her a chance to compose herself. With his arms across his chest he said, “Now maybe you can tell me what happened.”
“It was nothing.” She studied the way his dark pants hugged his hips and the flat planes of his stomach. Her gaze moved upward, to the sleeves of his shirt, straining against the muscles of his arms.
She was suddenly too tired to keep her eyes open. They closed against her will. She could hear Quent’s voice, closer now. But she couldn’t rouse herself enough to reply.
And then she felt his hand brushing the hair from her forehead. And his voice, close to her ear, whispering, “Go ahead, Ruby. Sleep now.”
It seemed too much effort to sort things out. It was enough to know that here in Quent Regan’s bed she felt safe. Safe and snug and warm.
She slept.
Chapter Five
Ruby awoke to sunlight streaming across the bed. She lay listening to the strange sound that had awakened her. Opening her eyes, she watched Quent scrape the razor across his cheek, over his jaw. With each movement the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened. She found herself staring at wide, muscled shoulders. He turned, giving her a glimpse of naked chest, covered by a mat of dark hair. And arms corded with muscles.
She’d never before thought of a man’s body as beautiful. But Quent Regan’s was. All muscle and sinew, the skin bronzed by the Texas sun.
When he finished shaving, he wiped the lather from his face. Ducking his head in the basin, he scrubbed his hair and scalp, then shook himself like a great shaggy dog before drying it with a square of linen. Afterward he dried his chest and shoulders before pulling on a clean shirt.
He was buttoning the shirt when he turned and realized that she was awake.
“Good morning.”
Aga
in she felt the intensity of that dark gaze. “Good morning.”
“I’ll be out of here in a minute so you can have some privacy.” He sat on the foot of the bed and began pulling on his boots. It was an oddly intimate gesture that had her pulse pounding, though she didn’t know why.
That done, he strapped on his holster and checked his pistol. The shiny new badge, which he’d salvaged from a desk drawer, winked in the sunlight as he pinned it on his shirt.
Seeing it, Ruby’s mood darkened. She had forgotten, for a moment, that he was the enforcer of the rules. The one who meted out punishment to those who broke the rules.
He picked up the basin and pitcher, saying, “I’ll fetch you some fresh water.”
Within minutes he’d returned. He set down the basin and pitcher, then paused at the door. “Millie Potter always sends a breakfast tray over. It should be here any minute.”
Then he was gone. And Ruby was left to stare around the room. It was sparsely furnished, with little more than a bed, a dresser and a bedside table on which rested the basin and pitcher of fresh water.
Why would a man settle for this life? Was he so wedded to that gun at his hip and badge at his chest that he would accept such puny rewards? A tiny, cramped room in the back of a jail?
She slipped from bed and stared down at herself with dismay. Her gown was wrinkled, her hair in disarray. She set about making herself presentable.
She washed her face and combed her fingers through her hair. There was nothing that could be done about her gown, but she smoothed the skirt and pulled on the fine kid slippers that had been set neatly beside the bed. She couldn’t recall Quent removing them, but then there was much about the previous night that she couldn’t recall. But she seemed to remember hands tucking the covers around her, and brushing her hair from her face. Hands that were rough and work worn. And surprisingly gentle.
As she made up the bed, she breathed in the lingering scents of horses and leather and tobacco. Scents she recalled from her father’s infrequent visits. All through the night she’d found them somehow soothing.
How could this be? How could a man who earned his living with a gun be gentle and soothing? She shook her head, dispelling such foolish thoughts.
When she opened the door she saw Beau sitting on his bunk, enjoying coffee and biscuits. Quent was at his desk, frowning over some papers. A tray, covered by a linen towel, rested on his desktop.
“You’re just in time,” Quent said. “The coffee’s hot, and Millie baked cinnamon biscuits.”
“It’s kind of Mrs. Potter to provide breakfast.” Ruby accepted a cup from Quent’s hand and began to sip strong, hot coffee.
“It’s her job. The town pays her to provide meals for the prisoners.”
Ruby almost burned her tongue. For a few minutes she’d managed to forget why she was here.
“Speaking of which...” Quent glanced up at the sound of horses. “That’s probably your sisters come to take you home.”
At the chorus of female voices outside the door, Ruby braced herself for what was to come.
“Quent Regan, what have you done with Ruby?” Diamond, huge with child, dressed in her usual buckskins and dung-caked boots, strode into the jail, ready to pick a fight. At the sight of her sister calmly drinking coffee, she came to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, thank heavens you’re all right.” Pearl, trailing Diamond, pressed a hand to the bodice of her shell-pink gown and sniffed as she looked around the dingy room.
Jade, who strode in behind her sisters, shot the marshal an angry look. “You gave us quite a fright, sending that message with your deputy. We thought Ruby was actually in jail.”
“She was. Is,” he corrected.
“Make up your mind, Quent.” Diamond made no effort to mask her impatience. “Is Ruby in jail? Or isn’t she?”
“She is. But I’m releasing her to the three of you. And you’d better make sure she doesn’t have reason to be back here.”
“I think you’d better explain, Marshal.” Pearl’s tone was cool and polite. “Why did you arrest Ruby?”
“Because she helped herself to things that didn’t belong to her.”
“You stole?” Pearl turned to her sister, her brows lifted in stunned surprise.
“I didn’t exactly steal.” Ruby shot a furious look at the marshal.
“What did you do? Exactly?” Pearl demanded.
“I...was practicing Mama’s petit vengeance.” Embarrassed by her explanation, Ruby sloshed coffee over the rim of her cup.
Jade, looking cool and composed in green silk, took the cup from her sister’s hand and placed it on the marshal’s desk. “Perhaps,” she said in her slightly accented voice, “we should discuss this back at the ranch.” She glanced knowingly at Beau Baskin, who was looking from one to the other, hanging on every word. “I am certain we’ll be more comfortable there. And it will certainly be more private.”
Diamond turned to the marshal. “Is there a fine or anything, Quent?”
He was tempted. After all, he’d paid the peddler more than the trinkets had been worth. And the Jewel sisters could easily afford it. But, after seeing Ruby all pale and frightened last night, he just wanted her out of here and back home where she belonged.
“There’s no fine, ladies. Just see that Ruby doesn’t find herself in my jail again.”
Ruby glanced at Quent’s rugged profile. “Last night it was your intention to humiliate me. I am wondering why you had this sudden change of heart.”
He shrugged. “I’m wondering the same thing. But your pa was a friend of mine. Maybe the first real friend I had in Texas. I owe him. Maybe I see this as a way to pay him back.”
Ruby bristled. “You needn’t bother on my account—”
“Thanks, Quent.” Diamond dropped an arm around her sister and started to lead her toward the door, in an effort to keep her from saying more. Her hot-blooded sister and the marshal just seemed to rub sparks off each other.
“The horse and rig are out back,” Quent called. “I had it brought over from Neville Oakley’s livery, where it was kept for the night. You’ll have to pay him for the oats and use of a stall.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Diamond called as the three sisters escorted Ruby from the jail.
As they swept past his cell, Beau drew a deep breath. When the door closed behind them, he said, “Um-um, Marshal. Those Jewel ladies are like a bouquet of flowers. Every one of ’em prettier than the next.”
Quent inhaled the sweet fragrances that trailed in Ruby’s wake. Beau was right. A bouquet of flowers. And Ruby was a wild rose. With plenty of thorns.
“A seamstress.” Diamond reached for a slice of corn bread. “You spent a night in jail because you decided to become a seamstress?”
Carmelita, housekeeper and ranch cook, rapped Diamond’s knuckles with a wooden spoon and snatched the platter away. “Not until lunch is ready,” she muttered.
The four sisters had ridden almost the entire distance from the town to their ranch in silence. Ruby had absolutely refused to discuss her “unsettling incident,” as she referred to it, and the three sisters had finally given up the idea that they would ever break through that wall of silence she had built. The reason for her time spent in jail was a closed subject. But Diamond, as always, was giving it one last try.
Once inside the house, with hugs from Carmelita, surrounded by the wonderful fragrances of cooking, Ruby had surprised them by blurting out her plans for the future.
Now she shot a withering look at Diamond. “That is not why the marshal arrested me.”
“Why, then?” Diamond persisted. “Quent said you helped yourself to somebody else’s property.”
Ruby gave an exaggerated sigh. “I do not wish to speak of that. I wish to tell you of my plans for my future. I have given this some thought. I can sew anything. I made this gown. Have you seen the stitches?” She lifted the hem of her gown and insisted they examine it. “These stitches would make Sister Dominique proud.”
“Sister Dominique?” Jade looked puzzled. “You have another sister?”
“Non.” Ruby was becoming flustered. “Sister Dominique was the nun, the teacher,” she corrected, for Jade’s benefit, “who befriended me while I was a student. I cannot tell you how many times I was punished because Sister Clothilde accused me of some infraction.”
“Punished?” Jade arched a brow. “In what way?”
For a moment Ruby froze. Then she said softly, “There were many punishments. One was to scrub the refectory floor on my hands and knees.”
“What were the other punishments?” Jade persisted.
Ruby merely shrugged. “I have forgotten. But Sister Dominique was my friend. My only true friend at Notre Dame du Bayou. And so, to please her, I learned to sew as she did.”
“I, too, had demanding tutors,” Jade said. “They insisted that I learn all the erotic mysteries of the Orient.”
Ruby gave a sigh of resignation. All of their lives had been so different. “I fear the nuns would have punished me day and night if I had even mentioned the word erotic.”
“Speaking of erotic,” Pearl said gently. “Sister Dominique might approve of your stitches now, Ruby, but I’m not sure she’d approve of your gown. There isn’t much call for that kind of dress here in Hanging Tree. The women here are...of a practical nature.”
“Practical,” Diamond’s eyes flashed back. “If they were practical, they’d wear what I’m wearing.”
Pearl struggled with a grin. “Diamond, I love you. You know I do. But there isn’t another woman in the whole territory of Texas who’d be caught wearing cowhide chaps and a gun belt.”
The sisters smiled. As always, when they came together, they felt as if they’d never been apart. It was a source of wonder for all of them that, though they hadn’t even met until after the death of their father, they had become a family.