Ruth (5 page)

Moments later Jackson appeared on the porch, wearing pants and his shirttail hanging out. “What in the—?”

Dylan’s gaze moved from the half-dressed bridegroom back to Ruth. She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair hung in tangled ropes, pieces of it clinging to her face; her dress drooped on her like a wet sack, but hot resentment burned in her eyes. He almost laughed.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning!” Jackson bellowed. “Don’t you two have anything better to do than have a water fight?”

Dylan noticed a crowd had gathered and now stood in various stages of nightclothes, gaping at them with wide eyes and not a few snickers. Pure fury rose in him. This stubborn,
irrational
woman had made a complete fool of him.

“Get away from that water barrel before you both freeze to death!” Jackson stepped off the porch and hauled Ruth out of the water. He propelled her toward the hotel lobby. “Show’s over, folks. Get back to your beds, where sane people ought to be!”

Jackson stepped inside the lobby and motioned the dripping couple up the stairway. Mort preened his neck over the counter as he cleaned his glasses. “Do I need to get the law?”

“We
have
the law,” Jackson called over his shoulder and then glanced at Dylan. “Although I’m sure the government wouldn’t claim him at the moment.” Wet leather boots creaked down the hallway as guests shrank back into the shadows. Doors shut—some softly, others with distinct slams.

Glory sat up in bed, clutching a blanket to her chest, as Jackson burst into their room with two nocturnal visitors dripping water. The new bride’s eyes scanned Ruth’s wet clothing.

Jackson sighed. “Honey, get Ruth some dry clothes before she catches her death. I can’t think for her teeth chattering. Dylan, here. Put on a dry shirt.”

Dylan would have refused the shirt Jackson tossed at him, but his fingers were turning blue and he couldn’t feel his feet at all. Glory handed Ruth a dry garment, then held up a blanket for her to dress behind.

Dylan felt a twinge of guilt for disturbing the newlyweds. Well, Ruth had disturbed him too. She had
flooded
him, and he’d have to change clothes before he went back to sleep.

Jackson sat the warring couple in straight-back chairs. Dylan knew the groom was none too happy right now. Ruth sat meekly, her teeth still chattering. She looked as innocent as a choirboy.

“I don’t know what got into you two, but I’ve got better things to do on my wedding night than referee for you and Ruth,” Jackson grumbled.

Dylan wasn’t sure himself what had gotten into him. Tossing a woman into a water barrel in the middle of the night wasn’t something he would normally do, but this woman got under his skin. In more ways than one—none of which he cared to analyze. On the trail to Denver City he’d noticed she was the more educated of the young women and definitely the best cook. But the spitfire could make him angrier than anyone he’d ever known. Her stubbornness, her standoffish ways, had gotten to him.

Maybe that was what startled him tonight when she’d awakened him from a sound sleep and begged him to take her to Wyoming. Wyoming! Was she that desperate or just plain crazy? The old prospector proposing in front of half the town must have really shaken her.

Of course, he couldn’t even think of taking her with him. Any day the deep snows would come, and Dylan would be lucky to survive the elements himself. He couldn’t take on the responsibility of a woman even if he did see Ruth’s point. What woman would take to the notion of marrying a man nearly five times her age? He cast a sideways glance at Ruth. Not this woman.

Jackson’s hands came to his slim hips. “I thought you were leaving at sunup.”

“I plan to.” In just a few hours Dylan would ride out of here and out of Ruth’s life. Maybe.

Jackson paced the floor, turning to cast looks over his shoulder. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”

“He—,” Ruth began.

“She—,” Dylan started.

“One at a time!”

Glory sat with her hands over her mouth. Dylan couldn’t tell if she was appalled, amazed, or trying not to laugh.

“This crazy woman knocked on my door fifteen minutes ago and demanded that I take her with me to Wyoming!”

“I didn’t
demand
,” Ruth retorted. “I asked.”

“Sounded like demanding to me. Seems a prospector that’s old enough to be her grandpa proposed to her tonight after you and Glory left—”

“Proposed?” Glory sat up on her knees. “Honest, Ruth? A man proposed to you? You’re getting married?”

“Not really,” Ruth said. “The prospector proposed, but I didn’t accept.”

“But Oscar still doesn’t know that,” Dylan said, shooting a cold look at Ruth.

Jackson focused on Ruth. “Ruth? Are you certain you don’t want to think about this? I don’t know the man, but I could do some checking—”

“No,” Ruth stated flatly, “I will not marry that old man. I’m going to Wyoming instead and find my cousin Milford.”

When Jackson frowned, Dylan added, “She says she remembers a cousin or something in Wyoming. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Ruth’s chin lifted. “There was no need.”

“She says she’ll do anything if I’d take her with me to find this ‘cousin.’”

“Not
anything
!” Ruth snapped. “I said I’d cook and wash your clothes and that’s more than sufficient payment. And I do have a cousin Milford in Wyoming.”

“Wyoming’s a big place. Do you have this man’s address?”

She shrugged. “Not with me.”

Dylan was a lawman, not a chaperone. Marshalling wasn’t the safest profession, and he had to travel fast. A woman would slow him down. He ate out of a can most nights. A woman wanted dishes; all he had were two tin cups. He jumped into a stream to bathe when it was convenient and let cleanliness go when it wasn’t. A woman had soaps and lotions and all sorts of pretty clothes and things. A woman—

Well, a woman on the trail wasn’t his idea of heaven on earth. Not even a woman like Ruth. She’d done well enough in the wagon with the other women to help on the journey from Westport, but traveling on horseback was a different matter . . . a whole different matter.

Ruth looked over at Dylan and silently mouthed, “I would rather marry a goat than depend on you to take me anywhere.”

He shrugged. “Then marry Oscar.”

“Hold it.” Jackson stopped Ruth’s ready retort. “Ruth, even if Dylan was inclined to take you with him—”

“Which I’m not.”

Jackson’s mouth firmed as his eyes silently warned Dylan not to interrupt again. This whole thing was crazy. How had he gotten into this mess? All he’d done was agree to accompany Jackson’s wagonload of mail-order brides to Denver City. He didn’t deserve to be humiliated by this black-haired harridan.

“Even if he agreed,” Jackson said, “the two of you can’t travel alone together without being married. It wouldn’t do. Are you willing to marry Dylan?”

“Not on my last breath!” Ruth exploded.

Dylan’s incredulous laugh burst out. “Marry Ruth?” He wasn’t the marrying kind. Lawmen and marriage didn’t work. Besides, Ruth was religious like Sara Dunnigan. On the wagon trail he’d seen Ruth read her Bible frequently. She’d taught Glory to read, using the Bible. He’d had a bellyful of religious fanatics.

Oh, she was fun to rile. Every word he said ignited her fiery temper. But he wasn’t about to
marry
for convenience. At his age, he didn’t plan to marry for any reason. If he married that woman he’d never have a moment’s peace.

“I won’t marry her. I wouldn’t take her to a barn burning, let alone Wyoming on some wild-goose chase looking for Cousin Milford. I have a job—remember? I’m late getting there as it is.”

What sane woman would ask a lawman to take her hundreds of miles to a land she didn’t know, to a person who probably didn’t exist? Dylan had done his good deed when he offered to help Jackson on the trail.

“And I would rather walk barefoot through hot coals than marry him,” Ruth stated, her chin lifting another notch.

“Then we’re agreed.”

Ruth whirled to face him. “Marshall McCall—you are the most—”

“Don’t start again,” Jackson warned, “or I’ll dump you both back in the water barrel. Seems to me, there’re only two solutions. Either you stay here, Ruth, and deal with Oscar—”

“Not on your life,” she breathed.

“—or you marry Dylan.”

“Not on your life,” Dylan said. He crossed his arms.

Having observed all of this, Glory scooted closer to the edge of the bed. “What Dylan says is true, Ruth. Winter’s coming on, and you can’t travel alone with an unmarried man.”

“I’ve already thought of that, Glory—”

“Forget it, ladies.” Dylan pushed out of his chair. Damp curls were drying against his forehead. “Ruth has other choices. She doesn’t have to marry Oscar. She can tell the old man no and remain with the Siddonses until spring. That was the original plan.”

“I feel I can’t impose on the pastor and his wife since I have received a marriage proposal,” Ruth argued.

“Well, then I’d say you’re in a heap of trouble, Ruthie.” Dylan turned and walked toward the door, his boots squeaking with water.

Ruth crossed her arms and stared at the floor. “Fine. I wouldn’t go with you now if the whole of Denver City was being swallowed by mountains.”

Dylan tipped his head respectfully. “You and Oscar have a fine life together.” He purposely grinned to rile her. “I can picture the happy bridegroom clicking his heels together in joy when the preacher says, ‘I pronounce you man and wife.’ Just be sure to keep him supplied with chewing tobacco with a spittoon by the door.”

He ducked when a soggy boot sailed past his head and hit the door.

“Crazy woman,” he muttered to himself as he opened the door and stalked back to his room. No way could she make the trip to Wyoming. Not in winter. She couldn’t expect him to mollycoddle her. He had a job to perform and not an easy one at best. Having a woman along would be dangerous and foolhardy. Ruth needed to take care of her own problems. If that meant marrying Oscar, then so be it—though he did hate to see a young woman tie herself down to a man old enough to be . . . He switched the thought off. Nobody ever claimed life was easy or fair.

Ignoring the bitter taste the confrontation had left in his mouth, Dylan returned to his bed in hopes of getting some sleep before he had to ride out.

Chapter Three

“Mary?”

Ruth gently shook the sleeping girl. Daylight would break in less than an hour, and she had to hurry. Shivering in her wet clothes, she shook Mary a little harder. She didn’t want to wake the others—Mary would be the most likely one to help and the least likely to try to talk her out of what she was about to do. But Dylan McCall had left her no choice.

“Mary.” Ruth grasped the young woman’s shoulders more firmly.

Coughing, Mary stirred and opened her eyes sleepily. Ruth bent close to her ear and whispered, “Get up. You have to help me.”

Predawn chill sheathed the bedroom. With chattering teeth, Ruth quickly reached for the towel on the washstand to dry her damp hair.

Mary’s voice sounded raspy in the shadowy room. “Wha . . . what’s wrong now?”

Ruth slid a sideways glance toward the three other sleeping women. Patience and Lily hadn’t moved. Harper’s head burrowed in her pillow, her back end protruding in the air beneath the heavy blankets.

“Ssssh.”
Ruth bent to lay a finger over Mary’s lips. She pressed closer, whispering. “I need your help. I asked Dylan McCall to take me to Wyoming and he refused. I have no other choice but to make him take me.”

“Make him?” Mary struggled to sit up. She blinked. “You can’t
make
the marshall do anything—”

Harper stirred in the bed beside her.

Ruth slapped her hand across Mary’s mouth and bent closer to her ear. “I’m going to trick him.”

Mary coughed, the spasm racking her frail body. Ruth moved about the room as quietly as a church mouse. If the others heard and woke up, they’d try to talk her out of her plan. Mary would attempt to reason with her, but Mary would do what Ruth needed. Anxious to be about her plan, Ruth started to stuff personal articles into a knapsack.

Mary shivered as goose bumps popped out on her thin arms. Slipping out of bed, she wrapped a blanket around herself and watched Ruth’s movements. “What plan? What are you talking about?”

“My plan to thwart that no-good scoundrel Dylan McCall and rescue myself from Oscar Fleming.”

“Oh, Ruth!” Mary sank softly onto the side of the goose-down mattress. “You promised to think about Mr. Fleming’s proposal.”

“I have thought about it, Mary. I’ve thought of nothing else all night. I can’t—I won’t—marry Oscar.”

Mary’s eyes followed her movements. Ruth knew what she must have been thinking. Mary was an obedient person. If Oscar had asked Mary to marry him, she would have done so out of a sense of obligation to the Siddonses.

At one time Ruth was thought to have the most common sense of anyone in the group, but Tom Wyatt’s deceit had changed that. She’d been gullible enough to fall for the man’s deception. Dylan McCall was about to leave and alter Ruth’s life irrevocably—that is, if she didn’t do something to stop him.