Ruby by Ruth Langan Page B

to watch in fascination as the men struggled beneath the load of wood until it was formed into several neat piles.
    “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “Look at the wood for my shop.” Her heart swelled with a rare sense of pride. “The shop I am building in your town. No,” she suddenly corrected. “Not your town. It is my town now, as well.”
    As she continued along the dusty street, her heart felt lighter than it had in a very long time.
    Outside the jail she paused to greet Arlo Spitz.
    “Good morning, Deputy.”
    At the sight of her he set the broom against the wall and whipped his hat from his head. “Morning, Miss Ruby.” He eyed the package in her hand. “What brings you to town this morning?”
    “Business,” she replied. The very sound of that word pleased her.
    “With the marshal?”
    She nodded. “Is he in?”
    “Yep. But not for long.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, to convey the importance of what he was confiding. “The marshal got word about a rancher and his wife found dead.”
    “Here in Hanging Tree?”
     
    “No, ma’am. About a week’s ride from here. A local sheriff found them. Sent word for the marshal to come take a look.”
    “Are you going along, Deputy?”
    Arlo puffed up his chest. “The marshal said someone has to stay here and take care of the folks in town.”
    “Yes, of course. How foolish of me not to think of such a thing.” With a smile she swept past him and walked inside.
    For a moment her smile disappeared as her gaze swept the empty cells and she recalled the night she’d been forced to spend here. Then she nudged aside the troubling thought. Today was a happy day. She wouldn’t allow a dark cloud to spoil it.
    Finding the office empty, she glanced toward Quent’s private room. The door was open, and the shadow moving back and forth alerted her to his presence.
    “Hello,” she called.
    Quent’s tall frame filled the doorway. A bedroll was under his arm, and two fat saddlebags were slung over his shoulder. He carried a rifle in one hand.
    “Good morning, Marshal. Arlo said you’re leaving to hunt outlaws.”
    “That’s right.” He stayed where he was, drinking in the sight of her. “What brings you into town so early in the morning?”
    “I wanted you to have your new shirt as soon as it was finished. But I didn’t realize...I mean...I don’t want to interfere with your work.” She set the package on his desk. “You can open this when you get back.”
    “I’ll open it now.”
    In quick strides he was across the room. He tossed his burdens aside and tore open the paper.
    At first glance the shirt seemed ordinary enough. It was black, with black buttons. But when he touched it, he realized that she’d turned the fabric inside out, so that the tough outer sheen would wear like cowhide, and the soft inner nap would be against his skin.
    “You...don’t like it.” She’d been watching his face. And she’d seen the way his eyes had narrowed slightly as he’d studied her work.
    He didn’t say a word. Just removed his cowhide jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. And while she watched in astonishment, he stripped off his old shirt and shrugged into the new one.
    In those few moments she’d had a chance to see again the hard, chiseled body, the ripple of muscle. Her throat went dry at the sight of him.
    “I... made it larger than the measurements, to allow for sudden movements.” She was feeling suddenly shy. “I know that a lawman needs to draw his weapon, and occasionally engage in brawls.”
    He bit back the smile that hovered at the corners of his mouth. He was beginning to see what she thought of his job. “Occasionally.”
    “And I made the seams as strong as I could, so they wouldn’t give way.”
    Now he was smiling. But he couldn’t help himself. “So, even if I’m knocked around and find myself bruised and bloody, my shirt will remain intact.”
    She lowered her head. “I believe you’re mocking me, Marshal.”
    He