Letter Perfect ( Book #1) (9 page)

Ruth perked up. “You’ll allow us to paint the walls?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It’ll be messy.”

“Life is chaotic, Ruth.” He gestured in an arc. “Look around us. Felipe is mucking out the stable. The pigs are wallowing in mud. Even Hilda’s good cooking makes for a jumble in the kitchen. I don’t expect much ever gets done without the effort causing a mess. Stuff can be tidied up afterward—but the results are what matters.”

“Oh, I like your way of thinking!”

“You’d best scamper along back into the house and freshen up. Dad plans to go to town after breakfast, and he doesn’t cotton to waiting on anyone.”

“I suppose I could meet the animals later today.”

Stubbornly folding his arms across his chest, Josh glowered at her. “You’ll stay away from the beasts unless someone is with you.”

“Yes, well, that seems like a reasonable request.”

“It wasn’t a request; it was an order. Regardless of the finer points of who owns what, this place has to turn a profit. Dad sees to the business matters; I’m in charge of the working end of things. Any mistake is costly, and you’re going to have to face the fact that you’re wholly ignorant and must rely on us to make decisions.”

“I’m good at sums. I could help your father with the books and free him up to see to other matters.”

Josh shook his head. “Ruth, Dad busted his left arm right after we struck up the partnership with your father. I’m sure you noticed it’s not quite right. He can’t lift heavy loads or do most of the physical labor. Handling the books and business end of the ranch lets him keep his pride. I want your word that you won’t horn in on him.”

Her expression softened, and compassion deepened the green of her remarkable eyes. “I know what it’s like to want to protect a parent. You just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll work with you in every way possible.”

“For now, go back to the house. Dad won’t want to wait to leave after breakfast, so you’d best uh …” He glanced meaningfully at her dress. “Spruce up a little.”

“I’ll do that.” She pivoted around, then wheeled right back. Her skirts billowed and swept around his ankles. “And Josh? I’m sorry about the mare. Her new baby is darling. I didn’t know she’d be so protective. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Good.” He watched as she grabbed fistfuls of her bright skirts, lifted them, and ran like a deer toward the house—straight through a mud puddle.

“Lord, help me. That woman’s an accident waiting to happen.”

“Thank you, Toledo.” Laney smiled at the hand as he tipped his hat to them, then sauntered off. She patted her hoopskirts into submission and beamed at Ruth. “I told you we’d both fit back here.”

Ruth surveyed the back of the buckboard and giggled. “Just barely.”

“We’re ladies.” Laney leaned forward and whispered, “Besides, the hoops are far cooler whilst we walk about town. Furthermore, they force the riffraff to keep decent distance from us. I’ll teach you all those tricks.”

“It’s already growing warm, isn’t it?”

Laney popped open a parasol. Instead of being cloth, it boasted a beautifully painted papery canopy. “Here. I brought one for you, too. Josh went to San Francisco and toted back several of these for me. A Chinese woman painted them. Aren’t they positively charming?”

“Lovely. And it’s so kind of you to share.”

“We’re practically sisters now. Of course we’ll share things.” Laney twirled her parasol until the decoration on it reached just the right spot. “I brought Hilda’s list along, so you and I can spend time in the mercantile. Daddy hates to shop. He’ll likely wander off and pick us up. It’s perfectly safe.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t leave you if he felt any danger existed.”

“That’s right,” McCain said as he swaggered up and climbed into the front of the buckboard. He used his left arm as a counterbalance and managed the feat with surprising grace. “Laney’s welfare is uppermost in my mind. You, too, Ruth. Now that you’re under my roof, you’re part of the family.”

“You’ve all been most welcoming. I’m unaccustomed to having men around. I’ll beg your forgiveness because I’m sure I’ll probably charge ahead at times.”

“You didn’t grow up with a man as the head of your home,” McCain declared as he picked up the reins. “But now that you’re under my roof and authority, the natural order of things will assert itself.”

Ruth thought about what he’d said and couldn’t convince herself that Mr. McCain had spoken the truth. Simply put, selfcontrol and self-determination were her problems, just as they always had been. Having men around merely complicated the matter because McCain assumed she’d acquiesce to him, and when it came to Josh—well, she couldn’t begin to decide what he thought.

Lacking any appreciable exposure to men, Ruth couldn’t figure out where she stood with Josh. Yesterday he’d been the personification of kindness when he told her of her father’s passing. Even in his anger over the ranch’s ownership, he’d thought to provide for her. Then, too, he’d waded through all of the awkwardness regarding Madame Velvet—surely that counted as a point in his favor. Mad as he’d been to discover her in Maxie’s stall, Josh still put himself in jeopardy for Ruth’s sake. But beneath all of that, she knew he’d probably summed up his whole stance the moment they met when he said she shouldn’t have come.

I promised Mama I’d come and live here, no matter what. I was foolish to
pledge that to her. Father’s not here, but I’m still honor bound to remain in
California. Not that there’s anywhere else for me to stay. I’ll have to make the
best of this
.

The ride into Folsom rated as far more comfortable than the stuffy stage. Fresh air, good company, and lighter clothing made for a pleasant journey. Best of all, Laney told her stories about her father. Mr. McCain originally warned, “Laney, you’ll make Ruth sad if you say things about the daddy she never knew.”

“Oh, please—I’d be delighted to know anything you could tell me.”

“Well, then,” McCain drawled, “there was the time Alan decided he was goin’ eyeball to eyeball with the orneriest colt on the Broken P. We all worried he’d get stomped to death. All that worry was in vain. Alan moseyed into the corral wearin’ his holster. I thought for sure he was drawin’ a pistol, but he pulled out the fattest carrot you ever did see… .”

Ruth listened avidly, and in no time at all, Mr. McCain was parking the rig in a field across from the Pony Express office. Three other buckboards lined up there as well, but it made sense. Main Street rode the swell of a hill. Anyone leaving a conveyance in front of most businesses would come out to find it rolling away.

Squiring a girl on either side of him, Mr. McCain headed toward the boardwalk. “I’ll leave you gals in the mercantile.

Business needs tending, and I can’t see me shuffling around the dry goods while you dither over fripperies. Stay put, and I’ll collect you when I’m done.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Laney went up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Four rather steep wooden steps led from the field up to the level of the boardwalk. McCain dropped back a step and kept hold of the girls’ arms to help them balance. Even then, there wasn’t quite enough space up on the boardwalk. Ruth hesitated a moment to allow Laney to move ahead so there would be sufficient room for their hoopskirts. Mr. McCain momentarily released her.

Several cowboys stood on the corner. They murmured greetings and shuffled for a better look at Laney. The next thing Ruth knew, someone bumped her. She lost her footing and tumbled off the boardwalk and straight into the street.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

N
ow who would this be, fallin’ into my arms?” A young redheaded man caught and righted her just before she toppled in front of a wagon rolling by.

“I’m sorry. How clumsy of me. Thank you.”

“Ruth!” Laney leaned forward and looked down at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m thinkin’ she’s far more than just okay, Elaine McCain,” the man said as he continued to keep a grip on Ruth. He grinned at her. “The lass is fair as the day is long.”

“O’Sullivan.” Mr. McCain nodded. “Thanks for saving our Ruth. Ruth, are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks to this gentleman.”

“Galen O’Sullivan at your service.” The young man swept off his hat and gave a courtly bow—one that would earn even Miss Pettigrew’s approval.

“We’re much obliged.” Mr. McCain extended his hand to Ruth. From the front of the street, it was one huge step up onto the boardwalk. Ruth reached for his hand.

“Permit me.” Galen cinched his hands about her waist and lifted her as if she weighed as little as Laney.

“Thank you both.” Ruth wished she’d brought her fan. Hot as her face felt, it probably looked red as a barn. No one formally introduced her to Mr. O’Sullivan, and she couldn’t decide whether to introduce herself or stay silent. Just yesterday she’d introduced herself to Madame Velvet. Perhaps it was best for her to hold her tongue.

“You must be more careful,” McCain said gently. “Things here are rough.”

Ruth didn’t want to argue with him, but someone had bumped her. Then again, if she weren’t so awkward, she would have kept her balance.

“All’s well that ends well,” Laney chirped. “We’ll be fine, Daddy. You take all the time you need. Ruthie and I will enjoy ourselves.”

He chuckled. “I know when I’ve been dismissed. Just as well. I have men I need to see.” He opened the door to the mercantile, allowed them inside, and then sauntered off.

“There’s nothing worse than Daddy shuffling from one boot to the other when I shop,” Laney confided. “He has to be the most impatient man God ever made.”

“You’re blessed to have a father,” Ruth said.

“I am. And he spoils me rotten. Come on. Let’s go look at the fabric first. You need curtains, a counterpane, and new dresses.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you if you’d mind helping me make a quilt like the one you have on your bed. I thought it would be fun to make it out of feed sacks. Hilda has a stack in the mudroom.”

“Sure, we can do that.” Laney sashayed toward the fabric.

Ruth admired her smooth glide. Try as she might to move with such grace, Ruth always felt her skirts swayed back and forth like a church bell. Exerting pressure on the sides of her hoops, she managed to compress them sufficiently to walk down the aisle between two rows of sundry items and joined Laney.

“Good day, ladies.” A lanky storekeeper slipped from behind the counter. “How can I help you?”

Laney pulled a piece of paper from her sleeve. “Hello, Lester. Hilda wrote down a list. Could you please fill it while we look around? Thank you ever so much.”

“I’d be delighted to.” He accepted the list, then ran his hand over a nearby bolt. “If you’re looking for material, I got a shipment from Lowell—came in through San Francisco since the last time you were in town.”

“You always carry a wonderful selection,” Laney praised.

Ruth watched as Laney visited a few minutes with the storekeeper. She chatted effortlessly, and the man hung on her every word. Just like the cowboys on the corner, he was smitten. Back at school, all of the pretty manners seemed so frivolous; but watching Laney effortlessly employ them, they were natural and charming. With her feminine ways, petite frame, and sweet words, Laney had probably won the heart of every man for miles around.

I could live to be one hundred and never show a fraction of her poise. When
I get to heaven, I’m going to ask God why measles are catching and manners
aren’t
.

Studying Hilda’s list, Lester ambled off. Laney surveyed the bolts and let out a small sigh. “I’m so tired of wearing the same old thing.”

“Josh said we could get material for you.”

“I know.” Laney trailed her fingertips along a length of brilliant magenta cloth. “But I’ll end up doing the same as I always do. I’ll settle for something brown or cream or gold or green instead of one of the new, vibrant colors that are so stylish. Anything else looks hideous with my hair.”

“I think your hair looks like cinnamon and spice all mixed together.” After the words left her mouth, Ruth felt gauche. “I mean, the color is beautiful. Rich.”