Beauty for Ashes by Dorothy Love Page A

on the river and that beautiful old house in Charleston, not to mention all the money you earned from—”
    “Why, you little minx. How is it that you know so much about my holdings? Have you been checking up on me?”
    “No. Well, maybe a little. But, Griff, don’t be mad.”
    He laughed. “I’m not mad. I admire your acumen. But the fact remains that you owe me money. Quite a lot of money. And now I need it.”
    “Well, I don’t have it.” She swept one arm around the room. “Do you think I’d be living here if I could afford anything better? And you’ve obviously been checking up on me too.”
    He didn’t deny it. “What in the Sam Hill are you doing in a town like Hickory Ridge? Far as I can tell, there’s not a gambling house between here and Nashville.”
    She sent him a mysterious smile. “There is if you know where to look.”
    “Nevertheless. I know you. You didn’t come all this way to cheat the good people of Hickory Ridge out of a few dollars. There’s some other reason you’re here.”
    She glanced away. “What if there is? It has nothing to do with you.”
    “You’re right. It doesn’t.” He caught her chin in his hand. “All I want from you is my money. And soon.”
    “All right. I’ll get your blasted money.” She grabbed a handful of cards and flung them at him. “You’re certainly no gentleman, Griff Rutledge.”
    “And you, Miss Dupree, are no lady.”

    Carrie stood transfixed at the top of the stairs. After bidding goodbye to Ada, she’d gone back upstairs to tidy her room. She’d left it just in time to hear Rosaleen’s voice . . . and Mr. Rutledge’s raised in anger. Obviously they knew each other, a fact that shouldn’t bother her in the least. But it did. She felt disappointed. Maybe even jealous, which was even more ridiculous. Griff Rutledge was a stranger just passing through Hickory Ridge. She had no claim on him whatsoever.
    The door slammed shut behind Griff. Carrie squared her shoulders and hurried downstairs. Rosaleen was on her hands and knees in the parlor, picking up her cards.
    “Need some help?” Carrie retrieved the jack of diamonds lying beneath the side table.
    “Thanks. I’ve got it.” Rosaleen got to her feet, and Carrie saw tears standing in her eyes.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Fine.” Rosaleen straightened her blouse and sniffed. “Just a misunderstanding with an old friend.”
    “Mr. Rutledge?”
    Rosaleen’s eyes went wide. “You know him?”
    “Not really.” Carrie explained the nature of their acquaintance. “I recognized his voice just now, that’s all.”
    “I hope we didn’t disturb you.” Rosaleen dropped the stack of cards onto the table and looked up, her expression troubled. “How much did you overhear?”
    “Only the barbs you traded as he was leaving.”
    Rosaleen seemed relieved. “He didn’t mean it. Nor did I. We’ve always been—”
    The door flew open and Lucy Whitcomb rushed in, her skirts blood-soaked, a small, golden-haired girl lying limp in her arms. “Quick, I need bandages.”
    “What happened?” Carrie touched the child’s face. It felt cool and dry beneath her fingers.
    “I—I turned my back for half a minute.” Lucy gulped air, stifling her sobs. “She picked up the ax and accidentally cut her foot. Please help me. I’m afraid she’s bleeding to death.”
    Mrs. Whitcomb rushed down the stairs. “What’s all this commo—oh my heavens, that poor child. Rosaleen, don’t just stand there, go find Dr. Spencer.”
    Lucy’s voice trembled. “He’s out at the Rileys’ place. I couldn’t think where else to bring her.”
    “Put her on the sofa,” Mrs. Whitcomb said. “And for heavens’ sake, Lucy, bear up. Carrie, bring a basin of water and that can of powdered alum from the kitchen.”
    Carrie hurried to pump the water, her heart twisting with worry and pity. Poor child. Poor Lucy. What would happen to her, to her future, if the little girl died? More importantly, how would Mrs.