Chapter Eight
Rain tapped steadily against the windowpanes, soft but persistent, turning the morning gray.
Ruth pressed her back against the wall, just beside the doorway, one hand over her mouth. Across the room, Clara lifted her hands uncertainly as she turned in a slow circle, searching.
Ruth bit back a smile as Clara took a few careful steps, peering behind a chair, then crouching to look beneath the table. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and her lips parted as if she might speak—though no sound came.
Then, when Clara turned and saw Ruth, her entire face lit up.
“You found me!” Ruth laughed softly as Clara hurried toward her, small feet quick against the floorboards.
Clara touched her arm, her eyes bright.
“You’re getting better at this,” Ruth murmured, brushing a loose curl back from Clara’s face.
For a moment, everything felt lighter.
Then, Ruth’s gaze settled on Henry’s coat, draped across the back of a chair on the kitchen—and the pit that had formed in her stomach the day before yawned open again. The horses were showing no signs of getting better, and she could see how much it weighed on Henry.
She glanced toward the window and the rain-blurred view of the yard beyond.
He shouldn’t be out there in this weather without his coat.
She moved to the table and brushed her fingers against the cool material of his coat, then picked it up and hung it over her arm. She turned to check on her sister, only to see that Clara had already settled herself in the corner with a small book.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I’m just going out to the barn.” Ruth reached for her shawl, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders, then smiled at her sister. “Stay here, okay?”
Looking up, Clara nodded.
The rain had softened to a steady drizzle when she stepped outside, but the air was cool and damp, the earth beneath her boots slick with mud.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shape move at the edge of the porch.
“Hey there,” Ruth said softly, her lips curving despite herself. “You again.”
The broad-shouldered border collie trotted toward her, tail sweeping happily behind him, his black-and-white coat damp from the rain. As he approached, his intelligent eyes fixed on her with quiet loyalty.
George had introduce the dog as Scout, the youngest of four working dogs on the ranch—and, by far, the least obedient. Even so, he was her favorite.
“How you doing, boy?” she murmured, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.
He leaned into her hand.
Ruth had always liked dogs; back in Dodge City, strays had been everywhere, weaving through alleys, lingering near kitchens and back doors. She’d taken to saving scraps when she could, slipping them out when no one was looking. A small kindness, but the dogs had always remembered.
Scout nudged her hand again.
“I suppose you’re coming with me, then.” Smiling, Ruth stepped off the porch, Scout at her heels. She walked carefully, lifting her skirt to keep the hem from getting muddy.
The ranch stretched wide before her, softened by rain, the fields muted in shades of green and brown.
The barn stood in the distance, its doors dark against the gray morning.
Cows shifted in the pasture as she passed, large and unfamiliar, their size still enough to make her uneasy. One lifted its head, watching her.
Ruth instinctively moved a little closer to Scout. “I’ll never grow used to them,” she murmured under her breath.
Scout trotted steadily beside her, as if sensing her unease.
Ruth’s grip tightened on Henry’s coat as she approached the barn door and stepped inside.
The barn swallowed her at once, surrounding her with the scents of damp hay and horse manure.
Inside, it was enormous, larger than she’d imagined when looking from the yard.
Heavy timber beams stretched overhead like the bones of some great wooden creature, disappearing into shadows high above her head, where swallows had built little mud nests among the rafters.
Lanterns hung from iron hooks along the walls, their yellow light flickering across rows of stalls and turning drifting dust into floating specks of gold.
After her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, she saw Henry inside a large quarantine stall, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair falling across his forehead, damp with sweat.
Dirt streaked his shirt and forearms as he crouched beside a chestnut gelding lying heavily in the straw.
George stood nearby with a bucket in hand and a rag draped over his shoulder.
Both men looked exhausted.
“Henry, I brought your—”
Before she could finish, Scout bounded forward, paws thudding against the packed earth, his energy cutting harshly through the tense, heavy stillness of the barn.
One of the horses let out a deep, strained sound of distress that echoed through the rafters. Another kicked violently in its stall, hooves striking wood with a crack.
“Get him out of here!” George shouted.
“Scout!” Ruth called, a bubble of panic rising in her chest as the dog skidded to a halt and turned, tongue lolling.
Henry grabbed a length of rope and snapped it sharply against the ground. “Out!”
Scout yelped and bolted, rushing back toward the door, tail skimming the ground as he slipped past Ruth and out into the rain.
Henry rounded on her. “What are you doing?”
“I—I brought your coat,” Ruth said quickly, holding it out. “I didn’t think—”
“No,” he cut in, stepping toward her. “You didn’t.”
Ruth flinched, feeling the words like physical blows.
“These animals are sick,” he went on, gesturing toward the stalls. “They don’t need more agitation, more noise, more—” He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t just wander in here whenever you please.”
“I’m sorry.” Ruth’s fingers tightened around the coat. “I didn’t expect Scout to—”
“That dog doesn’t listen,” Henry growled, “which means you should’ve kept him outside.”
“I said I was sorry!”
But he’d already turned away from her and started to pace, like he couldn’t stand still. Then, he faced her again, frustration burning in his eyes.
“This isn’t working.”
Ruth froze at his hard, controlled tone, which somehow made her feel worse than if he’d been shouting.
“This arrangement is already more complicated than it has any right to be.”
George stepped forward. “Henry—”
“This isn’t your business, George,” Henry snapped. “Stay out of it.”
George raised his hands defensively before taking a step back.
Ruth’s throat tightened. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Henry exhaled sharply. “Maybe it’d be—” He paused, as if conflicted, then pushed forward. “Maybe you’d be better off back where you came from.”
The barn closed in around her.
Back to the city? Back to—No.
Ruth’s vision blurred, but she didn’t step back or shrink away; instead, she lifted her chin.
“I can’t go back,” she said. “I won’t.”
Henry’s expression didn’t change.
“And you don’t have any excuse to send me away,” she added, gaining confidence, “because I’m trying—even if you refuse to see it.”
She swallowed hard, forcing her emotions down, refusing to let them spill over—not here, not in front of him.
She stepped forward and held out the coat. “You don’t want to catch a chill.”
Henry hesitated, then took it.
When their fingers brushed, Ruth saw the anger in his eyes falter—not vanishing, but dulling around the edges. Strangely, that only made her feel worse, because it meant he wasn’t unfeeling, just unwilling.
Then, before her tears could betray her, Ruth spun on her heel and walked out of the barn. She didn’t stop or look back, because if she were to take even the briefest of glances, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold herself together.
And she refused to fall apart in front of him.