My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho Read online

  © 2017 by Susanne Dietze

  ISBN 978-1-68322-011-4

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-327-6

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-328-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken form the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about Susanne Dietze, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.susannedietze.com

  Series Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Model Photograph: Sally Mundy / Trevillion Images

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Dedication

  For my children, Hannah and Matthew.

  In the movie Tangled, we laugh when the piano guy says, “Go, live your dream.” Since I was young, my dream was to write, but you and your dad were also my dream. I’m so blessed to be your mom. I’m cheering for you as you go live the dreams God places in your hearts.

  Acknowledgments

  Before Silver City became the seat of Owyhee County in 1867, Ruby City held the honor for four years. Today, little remains of Ruby City except for the cemetery and a few stone foundations, but you can still visit Silver City and view several historic buildings, including the Idaho Hotel.

  Many thanks to my editor, Rebecca Germany, editor Jo Anne Simmons, and the team at Barbour Publishing, as well as my wonderful agent, Tamela Hancock Murray. Debra E. Marvin, thank you for being such a patient sounding board and generous critique partner; I’m so glad God put you in my life! The ladies of Inkwell Inspirations were always there with friendship, critiques, and encouragement—hugs and chocolate, my friends. Thank you to all who prayed for me as I wrote this story, especially Donna Chaffee, Suzanne Kneale, Jennifer Uhlarik, and the couples in my Bible study: Karen and Al Cartmell, Bitsy and Garrett Ming, and Suzanne and Paul Wagner.

  I’m also grateful to Mary Scruggs of the Owyhee County Historical Society, who patiently answered my oddball questions. Any historical inaccuracies in the story are mine alone, however—and a few of them were intentional. I replaced the sheriff, judge, and other county office holders with my own fictional characters, and I took liberties with the stage routes and legal system to suit my purposes.

  Karl, Hannah, Matthew, Mom, and Dad, thanks for your prayers, support, and love. You were patient and encouraging, and it means more to me than you’ll ever know. I love you!

  God setteth the solitary in families: he bringeth out those which are bound with chains.

  PSALM 68:6

  May 1866, Owyhee County, Idaho Territory

  The dimming afternoon sky outside the stagecoach window was thick with flat-topped clouds, but the reverberating crack was no clap of thunder. Rebecca Rice knew a rifle shot when she heard it.

  She scuttled across the empty carriage to peer out the far window as the coach skidded to a stop. Men on horseback, four if she counted right, circled the coach, brandishing long guns and pistols. All wore bandannas over their noses and mouths, obscuring their faces.

  Bandits.

  Lord, You are my guard. Still, she’d prepared for something like this, gartering a bone-handled paper knife to her calf. Her fingers shook when she untied the dainty blade and tucked it up her undersleeve.

  Too far—the metal tip poked the inside of her elbow. Wincing, Rebecca curled against the door to hide, her wide bluebell skirt tangled around her ankles. She shoved her reticule beneath the seat, and then her fingertips found the knife handle. If some two-bit bandit thought he could paw at her for the few valuables she possessed—

  The door yanked open behind her. She fell out, landing on her backside in the dirt. Dust puffed around her, clogging her throat and sullying her Sunday dress. Some impression she’d make on her fiancé now.

  If she lived that long. A sweat-drenched oaf, his head almost too small for his muscular frame, glared at her with close-set eyes. His thick finger rested on the trigger of his shotgun. Behind him a brawny fellow rifled through her valise while a lankier bandit trained a pistol on the coachman.

  The smallest of the bandits crawled into the carriage, then hopped out, empty-handed. “Where’d you stash your handbag, lady?” His voice wasn’t all that deep. He must be a boy.

  Pity he’d started a life of crime so young. “There’s nothing in it to interest you.”

  The coachman, an unshaven fellow of middle years by the name of Mr. Kaplan, sent her a pleading look. “Best do what they say, ma’am. It’ll be over soon, and they’ll get what they want whether we cooperate or not.”

  He had a point. Maybe this would be over once they took her bag. The sooner she got to Ruby City, the sooner she’d get married. Then she could get something good to eat. The thought of roast chicken or mashed potatoes or even a stinky tongue sandwich set her stomach grumbling. Even at a time like this.

  “Shoved under the seat,” she said at last.

  The young bandit disappeared back into the coach and returned with her reticule, shaking it to make the coins inside jingle. That was all he’d find, except for a pencil stub and her mother’s lace-trimmed handkerchief.

  “I hope it’s worth it to you.” Rebecca’s tone was vinegary as a pickle.

  “Everything’s worth something to someone.” The young bandit wandered to where his compatriot emptied her bag, dumping Rebecca’s underthings on the dirt. The young bandit pulled out Rebecca’s toilet case and then, oh dear, the bundle of letters she’d tied with a pink ribbon. Bad enough these criminals mauled her unmentionables and stole her toiletries, but she had no other heirloom to give her future children than the sweet legacy of those letters.

  “You can’t have those.” Rebecca lunged. Her hand batted air as the bandit stepped away from her, holding the packet aloft.

  The pink ribbon fluttered to the dust as the brigand shook the envelopes. “Any money in here?”

  If there was, she wouldn’t be this hungry. “Not a dime, so give those back.”

  The bandit flipped through the letters anyway. Then his gaze lifted to Rebecca’s, his eyes narrowed and his forehead furrowed like he recognized her name. Impossible. Her interpretation had to be incorrect, and sure enough, he let the letters fall from his fingers to the ground, like they weren’t worth the effort to fling aside.

  The muscular band
it hauled the strongbox over his shoulder. “All set?”

  “I dunno.” The robber with the broad shoulders and small eyes stared at Rebecca. “She could have money hidden under her dress.”

  Let him try. She’d have her paper knife out before his thick fingers touched her.

  “Her clothes ain’t that fine and she’s lean as a starvin’ coyote.” The young one tipped his pistol at her. “Leave her be.”

  The beady-eyed criminal reached for Rebecca’s bodice anyway. Rebecca yanked the paper knife from her sleeve and slashed.

  The oversize robber jerked back, but he wasn’t the one bleeding. A red gash marred the back of the young fellow’s hand. Had he tried to protect her by pulling his companion away? He seemed none too happy with her, the way his dark eyes glared at her over his bandanna.

  Rebecca’s lunch of stale crackers crept up her throat. He’d punish her for injuring him, no question. Her grip tightened on the paper knife.

  The beady-eyed goliath rubbed his hands together. “This’ll be fun.”

  “I said let her go. We got what we came for.” The boy-bandit scooped the coins from her reticule and then tossed the bag to the dirt. “Let’s ride.”

  Rebecca’s boots seemed nailed to the dirt until the quartet of criminals mounted their horses. Then, the moment they disappeared down the sagebrush-scattered hill, she almost fell, crouching to gather her letters. Thank You, God.

  Mr. Kaplan retrieved her reticule. The tiny purse she’d embroidered with pink peonies dangled off his wrist, an amusing sight, but Rebecca couldn’t muster the strength to laugh.

  “Those must be important.” He pointed at the letters.

  “They are.” She brushed a clod of dirt from one of the envelopes. There, now she could read the return address: Theodore Fordham, Ruby City, Owyhee County, Idaho Territory. “They’re from my intended. I’m on my way to Ruby City to make his acquaintance.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. Why not just tell Mr. Kaplan every embarrassing detail, like how she’d advertised in a newspaper for a husband and Mr. Fordham had answered, and in his fifth missive he’d proposed and she’d agreed? Mortified, she scurried to stuff her petticoat back into her valise.

  If the news that she was about to marry a man she’d never met shocked the driver, however, he had the grace not to show it. Instead, he secured her trunk to the coach again. “Sorry we were set upon like that. This can be a wild land in every way, ma’am. Best you know that afore you swap vows.”

  Wild land perhaps, but she’d not be marrying a wild man.

  Rebecca couldn’t repress a smile, thinking of the quiet life Theodore described in his letters, a life of safety in the cozy, warm rooms above his mercantile, where he made a sound living selling goods to the miners who flocked here by the score.

  A life, he admitted, that could seem boring, with the same tedious routine day after day, returning to the same hearth every night after a full day’s work.

  She grinned as she climbed back into the coach. Boredom sounded wonderful.

  On the remainder of the journey, Rebecca cleaned her face with her hankie and the rest of the water in her small canteen, so she’d be somewhat presentable. As the coach ascended the rugged, uphill road, the sagebrush gave way to fir, juniper, and mahogany—a beautiful sight.

  It didn’t seem long before she descended from the stagecoach in front of a two-story edifice with a balcony rail on the upper floor. The signage proclaimed it to be the Idaho Hotel. A few men lounging outside the doors eyed her, so she turned away, getting her first full glimpse of her new community. Nestled into a small valley, Ruby City boasted a wide street lined by framed buildings: a barbershop, bank, and a restaurant, but where was the mercantile? She’d like to meet Mr. Fordham first thing.

  Movement drew her gaze. A man hurried up the street, shoving a light-colored, flat-brimmed hat on his head with one hand and tugging a coat in place with the other. A few fellows followed after him, patting his back and guffawing, but his gaze fixed on her as he hastened toward her with a sure gait.

  It was him. Her intended.

  Not that she could tell by his looks, of course. They hadn’t exchanged photographs. He hadn’t minded that she couldn’t afford to sit for a carte de visite, and considering photographers didn’t pass through this way too often, he couldn’t send her an image, either. All she had to go on was his description of himself, which had been decidedly slim on details: brown hair, hazel eyes, medium build.

  The description hadn’t done him justice. His square jaw was clean-shaven, and his smile was wide. From under his hat, coffee-dark tendrils curled over the collar of the dark blue frock coat he’d just donned, which fit well over his lean frame.

  But it wasn’t his looks that thrilled her. It was the way he’d come out of that door pulling on his coat, as if he took pains with his appearance to meet his bride. To get married.

  He was her fiancé. She didn’t need a photograph to know for sure. She knew it by the way her heart battered her chest like a wild bird was caught inside her rib cage.

  Should she smile? Mercy, she shouldn’t. It revealed her crooked bottom teeth and—who cared? He’d see plenty of her teeth throughout their marriage. They’d share tooth powder, after all. Married couples shared such things. Except she was now out of tooth powder, thanks to the bandits. Did Theodore have some? Of course he did. He owned the general store.

  Tooth powder? Rebecca shook the silly thought from her head. I’m babbling like a brook and I haven’t even opened my mouth yet.

  Trailed by the gaggle of menfolk, her fiancé stopped a full three feet away, a respectful distance, and removed his hat. “Ma’am, are you just arrived on the stage?”

  His voice was smooth and attractive as a polished gemstone.

  “I am. Are you Mr. Fordham?” She might be about to marry him, but it seemed forward to call him Theodore first thing.

  He nodded, twiddling his hat brim in his hands. “And you’re Miss Reese?”

  “Rice,” she corrected. “Like the grain.” The spelling should have made the pronunciation obvious. Maybe he was as nervous as she.

  “I’m mighty pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’ve been waiting for you for days.”

  His eagerness sent a little sizzle of heat through her. She hadn’t been due to arrive until today, so he must have been counting the moments, just as she had.

  Mr. Kaplan tossed her carpetbag at her feet, and the thud dragged her gaze from her intended. Then the coachman thrust out his hand to her fiancé. “Ah, Fordham. This’s yer bride?”

  “I daresay she is, Kap.” Mr. Fordham smiled. There went that sizzle again, right down to the holes at the toes of Rebecca’s stockings.

  Mr. Kaplan grinned, as if he approved. Then he swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “You should know, we got held up by the Gang o’ Four. They took the strongbox but there weren’t nothing in it, which they should’ve figgered since I didn’t have a guard with me.”

  “What?” A grim line replaced Mr. Fordham’s smile. He peered down at Rebecca. Then he took her hand, but not in a romantic gesture. Instead, he gently pulled her arm so it extended fully. A red stain the size of a half-dollar blotched the inside of her blue, pagoda-style sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”

  Oh. That. “I hid a paper knife up my sleeve and nicked myself. Nothing to cause alarm.” Except that her best garments were now bloodstained. Maybe she could soak both the dress and her undersleeve in cold water before the stain set. Her dust-caked skin and hair wouldn’t mind a soak, either. She hadn’t bathed in over a week, at one of the stops on the Overland Trail.

  She probably still looked better than Mr. Kaplan, whose dirt-streaked countenance made the whites of his eyes look bleached. “When yer bride pulled the knife on the handsy one, I thought we were goners.”

  Mr. Fordham’s jaw tightened. “One touched you? Rebecca—Miss Rice—I’m so sorry—”

  His use of her Christian name sent a tiny thrill down her spine, but she’d h
ave time to relish the moment later. She shook her head with vigor. “One tried, but the boy stopped him and I slashed him by mistake.”

  “There’s a boy with them?”

  “Not a child, but a youth. He’s thin and not much taller than I am, and his voice is still soft. I’m grateful he intervened when the big fellow reached for me, but I didn’t realize defending myself could make things worse.”

  Mr. Kaplan spat a stream of tobacco juice near her skirt. “Just give ’em what they want, nobody gets hurt.”

  This sentiment earned a rumble of approval from the men who’d followed Mr. Fordham up the street. Didn’t they have some mining to do?

  “No, Rebecca—Miss Rice—I’m glad you defended yourself. Even more glad that you’re unharmed.” Mr. Fordham’s squeeze to her fingers was gentle, but she felt a spark even through her gloves. “This gang has been terrorizing the county for three months, but they’ve left most of the stagecoaches alone. I hate that this happened, and I hate that I have to leave you alone already, but I should go after the Gang before they get too far.”

  Mr. Fordham wanted to protect her! Gallant, yet absolutely unacceptable. The last time a man in her family rode off with a posse, he’d never come home. Rebecca’s stomach twisted.

  “Is it truly necessary for you to go?” Let the local lawmen go. Let somebody, anybody else do it. Not her fiancé, not today, not ever.

  Mr. Kaplan shook his head. “No use, Fordham. They’re long gone by now. ‘Sides, you got more important things to do right now than ride out with a posse.” His bushy gray brows wiggled.

  Rebecca shivered but not from chill. She was about to get married, after all.

  A dry, warm wind tickled her nape and sent a strand of her pine-yellow hair curling into her nose. Her pins had loosened! She shoved the lank tendril behind her ear. If only she could remove her straw bonnet and repin her hair before the ceremony. Except she didn’t have a comb or hairbrush anymore—

  “I guess you’re right.” Mr. Fordham expelled a long breath through his nose, clearly conflicted between the twin desires to avenge her and marry her. “Kap, could you do me a favor and take Miss Rice’s bags to the county offices?”