Beauty for Ashes Page 0,3

all the self-possession maturity brings. Her hair was somewhere between red and gold, the color of a Carolina sky at sunrise. And those eyes—clear and blue as the Atlantic. She smelled good too, like the air after a low country rain. He wondered if there was a Mr. Daly in the picture. Probably so. Women like that didn’t stay unattached for long. Just the same, he was glad he’d accepted her invitation. Lately he’d spent far too much time alone.

When the rig disappeared from view, he retraced his steps to the bank. Though he didn’t plan on staying here any longer than necessary, if a profitable proposition was in the offing, he owed it to himself to hear the banker out.

The big black colt stood where Griff had left him, tethered to the rail outside the bank. Griff stopped to admire the horse. Everything about him, from his height to the shape of his hindquarters to the proud set of his neck, bespoke quality. Obviously, the banker had spent no small sum acquiring him.

The horse bobbed a greeting and nuzzled Griff’s hand as if they were old friends. Griff felt a surge of pride. He had disappointed his father in every way imaginable, but his skill with horses was the one thing Charles Rutledge had been unable to ignore.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Griff turned to find the Gilman fellow standing outside the bank, puffing a cheroot. “He is indeed. One of the finest I’ve seen since the war.”

“Come on in.” The banker ushered Griff to his private office at the back of the building and motioned him to a chair. He extracted another cigar from the humidor on his desk and held it out. “Care for a smoke?”

“No, thank you.” Griff unbuttoned his coat and settled into the leather chair.

Gilman puffed his cigar, sending a cloud of blue smoke curling behind his head. “How’s your father these days?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been away from home for a long time. After my mother passed on, I lost touch.”

“I see.” Gilman eyed Griff across the desk. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“I’ve a bit of unfinished business to clear up. Soon as it’s done, I’m headed west.”

“Ah, the lure of California claims another son of the South. Too bad.”

“The South we knew is gone, Mr. Gilman. I’m headed much farther west, to New South Wales. A friend of mine went over in ‘fifty-eight. Ever since the war ended, he’s been after me to come down and take a look.”

Gilman frowned. “Australia? What on earth for? All they have there is red dirt and kangaroos.”

“I’m told the place is booming since the great gold rush. There’s still some gold to be mined and millions of acres of ranch land available. I might try my hand at running a cattle station.”

Griff paused and gave free rein to his imagination. What would it be like living amongst a bunch of foreign drovers, fighting off dingoes in the middle of the night?

“Good heavens, man,” Gilman said. “If it’s a ranch you want, I’ll put you in touch with Wyatt Caldwell down in Texas. He sold his lumber mill here in town a few years back, and now he’s got one the finest herds of longhorns in the state. There’s no need for you to go clear to the edge of the known world.”

“I appreciate the offer, but my mind is made up.” Griff shifted in his chair. “Maybe we should get down to business.”

“Very well.” Gilman set his cigar aside. “I’m the head of a committee looking for ways to bring more money into Hickory Ridge. Like a lot of other towns these days, ours is declining, and we have to do what we can to save it.”

Griff nodded.

“I expect you heard about that fancy horse race they started in Louisville last spring.”

“The Kentucky Derby, yes. Eleven horses in the race this year, or so I heard.”

“We can’t compete with that, but we’ve decided to sponsor a horse race of our own this fall. We’re inviting the best horsemen from all across the South to come to Hickory Ridge and compete for a thousand-dollar prize. We’ll have barbecues, a parade, and a dance.” The banker’s eyes shone. “Why, it’ll be almost like Race Week in Charleston in the old days.”

Griff nodded, though in his experience nothing could match the excitement and grandeur of Race Week, when ladies wore their finest gowns and men competed for honors on horseback. Years ago he’d turned his back on