Cheryl St.John - Sequins and Spurs

Ruby gave him a look filled with appreciation. “Thank you for putting aside your resentment and giving me a chance.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Nash took a step back. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

She offered him a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

He locked the kitchen door and went up to his room. Thanks to Ruby he had his children back under his roof and could rest easy about that. Her presence here wasn’t conducive to sleep, however.

He thought of her traveling the country with her theater friends and riding that horse all the way to Nebraska on her own. In a way it bothered him, but on the other hand she impressed him beyond measure. He couldn’t think of another woman who would be so independent or daring. Few females would have packed a bag, saddled a horse and ridden alone for weeks and weeks.

Ruby was not like other women.

And those differences kept him awake at night.

Author of more than fifty romances, CHERYL ST. JOHN’s stories have earned RITA® nominations, Romantic Times awards, and are published in a dozen languages. In describing her stories of second chances, readers use words like ‘emotional punch, believable characters and real-life situations’. Visit her at www.cherylstjohn.net

Sequins and Spurs

Cheryl St.John

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

“Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.”

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

Contents

Cover

Introduction Ruby gave him a look filled with appreciation. “Thank you for putting aside your resentment and giving me a chance.” “Don’t thank me yet.” Nash took a step back. “Goodnight, Ruby.” She offered him a soft smile. “Goodnight.” He locked the kitchen door and went up to his room. Thanks to Ruby he had his children back under his roof and could rest easy about that. Her presence here wasn’t conducive to sleep, however. He thought of her traveling the country with her theater friends and riding that horse all the way to Nebraska on her own. In a way it bothered him, but on the other hand she impressed him beyond measure. He couldn’t think of another woman who would be so independent or daring. Few females would have packed a bag, saddled a horse and ridden alone for weeks and weeks. Ruby was not like other women. And those differences kept him awake at night.

Title Page Sequins and Spurs Cheryl St.John www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author Author of more than fifty romances, CHERYL ST. JOHN ’s stories have earned RITA® nominations, Romantic Times awards, and are published in a dozen languages. In describing her stories of second chances, readers use words like ‘emotional punch, believable characters and real-life situations’. Visit her at www.cherylstjohn.net

Quote “Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.” —Martin Luther King, Jr.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Crosby, Nebraska, 1883

The screen door barely squeaked, but the familiar sound made Ruby’s heart leap. She’d never tiptoed all the way across the porch without Mama hearing that hinge and ordering her back to finish chores. Ruby Gail! Stop right there, missy.

Apprehension and uncertainty rising, she pushed open the unlocked interior door and entered the front room. In the remaining light of day it took a minute for her eyes to adjust enough for her to tell the furniture had been arranged differently, and the curtains at the windows were unfamiliar. The farmhouse sat eerily silent. No cooking smells met her senses; in fact, she wrinkled her nose at a faint antiseptic scent mingled with lingering lemon wax.

She hung her hat on a doorknob, lit the lantern sitting on a nearby table, and held it high to investigate. In the golden glow, she noted a light film of dust covering the wood furniture. Ruby frowned. Her mother dusted this room every day.

Stifling her unease, Ruby tiptoed across the dining room and through the open door into the nearly dark kitchen. Half a dozen dirty coffee cups sat on the sink board, but other than those, there was no sign of occupancy.

“Mama?” Ruby called. Striding to the back door, she flung it open and studied the dooryard. Chickens squawked from inside a wire enclosure. The plot where her mother always grew a vegetable garden was overgrown with weeds and a scattering of volunteer beans. Concern grew to a heavy weight in Ruby’s chest.

Lighting lamps as she went, she searched each room. Finding no one downstairs, she headed up the worn front staircase.

“Mama?” Ruby’s voice echoed throughout the upper hallway, and her unease rolled over into trepidation.

All the doors were closed. She went to her mother’s straightaway, a flicker of panic pumping her blood faster as she stood with her hand on the faceted glass knob. “Mama?” she called, more softly this time.

The bed was neatly made with a plain wool blanket, instead of the quilt she remembered. On the dresser sat an ivory-handled comb and brush set Ruby recognized. She picked up the comb and ran her thumbnail across the teeth. On the surface of the bureau remained a clean outline where the comb had lain. Her heart skipped a beat. She placed the comb back where it had been.

In the mirror over the bureau, a worried face—a face that had seen too much sun this past week—stared back at her. She looked down. Opening a few drawers revealed neat stacks of clean stockings and underclothing. The scent of lavender offered a small measure of reassurance. Dozens of memories washed over her, some of them good. In the armoire, Laura Dearing’s dresses and cotton shirtwaists hung in neat order. Ruby caressed a sleeve and drew it to her cheek. Where was her mother?

From the doorway, she peered into her sister’s room. It, too, seemed unused. Pearl had undoubtedly married and moved to town or to another farm. Perhaps she lived a far distance and her mother had gone visiting. If that was so, however, Mama would have taken her comb and brush.

After finding the other two bedrooms unoccupied as well, Ruby at last entered her old room. Pink-and-white flowered wallpaper had been added. Lace curtains replaced the faded checkered cotton of her girlhood days. She didn’t recognize the doll on the bed. Another child had apparently stayed here.

Opening drawers and checking the wardrobe, Ruby found nothing familiar—nothing at all. The few pieces of clothing she discovered belonged to a small girl, which was puzzling. It was as though Ruby had never been here. But of course, what had she expected? She hadn’t been home for eight years. Any clothing she’d left behind wouldn’t fit her fuller figure now, anyway.