Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series)

by Margaret Brownley

  She rode her horse into the courtyard. “Stop!” she shouted. “Do you hear me? Stop!”

  Caleb halted the wheelchair and Donny’s laughter faded away. All three males including the dog stared up at her.

  She slid out of her saddle and wrapped the reins around the hitching post. Turning to face the doctor, she planted her hands at her waist. “What is the matter with you? He . . . he could have fallen.” Even with the best of conditions the chair wasn’t all that stable and had tipped over several times in the past.

  Dr. Fairbanks frowned. “We were just having fun.”

  She glared up at him. He was even taller than she remembered and she was forced to lean her head back to meet his gaze. His poor judgment only confirmed her earlier opinion of his ability as a doctor. “At the risk of further injury?”

  The doctor stepped away from the wheelchair. “It’s true that your brother’s well-being is endangered, but it’s not from having fun.”

  “The only danger to my brother is you.” If starting a stampede wasn’t bad enough, now this. Donny let out a long, hacking cough. Worried, she hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”

  His face scarlet, veins standing out on his neck, he didn’t answer.

  “Come on, I’ll take you to your room.” Grabbing the push handle, she wheeled him to the steps and stopped. Three steps. Only three steps led to the verandah, but they looked as formidable as a prison wall. Nothing made mountains out of molehills faster than a wheelchair.

  Without a word, Dr. Fairbanks laid his hand on hers. “Let me.”

  His touch sent warm currents up her arm. Cheeks flaring, she let go of the wheelchair and stepped aside. With seemingly little effort, he turned the chair around, tilted it, and pulled it up the steps on its tiny back wheel with an ease Molly could only envy.

  She followed behind. Reaching for the pitcher on the table, she poured a glass of water and handed it to her brother. He took a sip and his coughed improved, but his chest rose and fell at an alarming rate.

  “Thank you,” she said to the doctor, her voice cool. “I can manage from here.”

  Dr. Fairbanks touched her arm, drawing her gaze to his. “I want to help. Your brother’s condition will continue to deteriorate without medical intervention.”

  Overly aware of his touch, she moved away. “You know nothing about my brother’s condition.” Or history.

  It had been a tough morning and she had no desire to argue. Everything she did that morning, from chasing calves to repairing fences, had met with criticism. She wasn’t about to stand still while Dr. Caleb Fairbanks found fault with the way she cared for her brother.

  “I know enough,” he said. “I know that your brother has a partial lumbar spinal injury.”

  “If you know that much, then you must know his prognosis.”

  “Yes, but I can still help him if you’ll let me.”

  She inhaled. She wanted to believe him, to believe that what he said was true. But there had been too many medical disappointments in the past. Too many broken promises. Too many times she’d seen her brother’s hopes dashed, had her own spirit crushed. Right now it was all she could do to get through each day.

  “I appreciate your concern but—”

  The doctor pressed on. “We know a lot more today about such injuries, much more than we knew even a few years ago. I’ve witnessed some amazing results following manual therapy and—”

  “The last doctor who suggested manual therapy wanted to whip his legs with a willow stick.” The memory alone made her shudder.

  “I would never hurt your brother.”

  Something in his voice—perhaps sincerity—made her study him. He really did have a kind face, a pleasant, open expression. She couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone.

  “Can you make him walk again?” she asked. “Can you do that?”

  “No. I can’t do that.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but at least he spoke the truth. Perhaps she had misjudged him. He was nothing like the charlatans in Dobson Creek who promised cures.

  “Thank you for your honesty,” she said and she meant it. “But my brother has been through a lot these past few weeks. I don’t know if you heard about the Dobson Creek fire.” Donny still suffered nightmares from the fire. They both did. He didn’t need the added stress of working with a doctor. Especially when there was no reason to believe that any sort of therapy would help.

  “I heard about it,” the doctor said. “About your brother—”

  “My mind’s made up.” Was it his gentle tone or compassionate expression that made her perilously close to breaking down? “We have nothing more to discuss.”

  Not wanting to make a fool of herself, she gave the wheelchair an abrupt turn and pushed her brother into the house. “Good day, Doctor.”

  Chapter 10

  Come on, boy.” Caleb lifted Magic out of the car and set him on the ground and together they walked into the blacksmith shop. They were greeted by a growling wolf-dog baring his teeth. Magic didn’t know enough to be intimidated or even step back. Instead he perked his ears and gave a single bark in greeting.

  The owner, a tall clean-shaven man dressed in a leather apron, greeted Caleb with a nod of his head. “That’s enough, Homer.” The wolf-dog stopped growling, but his golden-eyed gaze remained on the small pooch.

  “I’m Dr. Fairbanks,” Caleb said. “I’m staying with your aunt and uncle.”

  The smithy set his hammer on his workbench, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked toward Caleb with an extended arm. “Been meaning to stop by and welcome you. Aunt Bessie told me she had taken in a boarder. Call me Luke. That there is Homer,” he said, indicating the dog sniffing out Magic. The tails of both dogs wagged like two trainmen signaling one another.

  Caleb shook Luke’s hand before petting the larger dog. “Call me Caleb. That there is Magic.”

  “Pleased to know you.” Luke glanced at the ball of fluff that was weaving in and out of Homer’s legs. “How do you like livin’ with my aunt and uncle?”

  “Couldn’t be happier. Your aunt is a terrific cook.”

  Luke grinned. “That she is. She also tends to interfere in everybody’s business, and that means she’s gonna meddle aplenty in yours.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll be sorely disappointed. I don’t have any business worth meddling into.”

  “Trust me, my aunt will find business that you didn’t even know you had. You’re safe for a while ’cause I’m getting married in a couple of weeks. Aunt Bessie’s up to her brow in wedding preparations. Never knew taking a wife required so much fuss.”

  “Congratulations,” Caleb said. “Married men seem to have less medical complaints than bachelors—along with less money.”

  Luke grinned. “I guess you gotta take the good with the bad. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been trying to get over here for days but my patients keep me hopping. Do you know anything about horseless carriages?”

  Luke leaned against his workbench, arms folded. “Can’t say that I do. Yours is the first one I’ve ever seen. You think they’ll ever replace horses?”

  “Money alone says they will. It’s cheaper to run an automobile than to feed a horse, and parts can be replaced. A horseless buggy can outlast several horses, and if it breaks down you don’t have to shoot it.”

  This brought a hearty laugh from the smithy. Pleased at finding an appreciative audience, Caleb continued, “That’s not all. It’s got a two-horse power engine and can go fifteen miles an hour providing the road is smooth and I’m going downhill.”

  Luke gave a low whistle. “I reckon that can make a big difference between life and death in a medical emergency.”

  Caleb nodded. “It sure can. The problem is, it tends to backfire and I don’t know how to stop it. People hearing it think it’s gunfire. I’ve already been shot at twice since arriving in town.” A vision of a certain green-eyed beauty came to mind, which almost made him lose his train of thought. �
�The marshal just threatened to put me in jail for disturbing the peace. Would you look at it and tell me what you think?”

  “I’ll look, but like I said, I don’t know nothin’ about ’em.” Luke followed Caleb outside.

  In the short time that Caleb had been in the shop, someone had attached a big satin bow to the rear. He couldn’t help but laugh. The entire town was practically covered in them.

  “I’m afraid if I stand still for too long, your aunt will attach a bow to me,” Caleb joked.

  “There’s no stopping Aunt Bessie,” Luke said with obvious fondness. He walked around Bertha, checking her out from top to bottom. “That’s a mighty good-looking piece of equipment, even without the bow. Why did you choose a gasoline engine over steam?”

  “It’s more economical to run,” Caleb explained. “And there’s less chance of fire. You can also start it quicker.” It would take almost a half hour to heat water sufficiently to start a steam engine. A doctor on call couldn’t afford to waste that amount of time.

  “So when does it backfire?” Luke asked.

  “Sometimes when I’m cranking it up. Other times it backfires for no good reason. Mostly when I stop.”

  Luke stepped back. “Crank her up and let’s see what we have.”

  Caleb slid the L-shaped pipe into the hole in front and turned it with all five fingers on one side of the handle for safety. The sparking device ignited with a bang, throwing the crank backward. Caleb was able to pull his hand back in time—but barely.

  Hands on his waist, Luke shook his head. “Whoo-eee. That flywheel sure does live up to its name.” He lifted his voice to be heard over the loud rumbling sound.

  Caleb rubbed his wrist. “It’s a wonder I haven’t lost an arm.”

  Bertha backfired and Luke jumped. Homer lowered his tail and darted through the open door of his owner’s establishment. A woman coming out of Green’s merchandise store dropped her basket of groceries and fled inside.

  Magic pawed Caleb’s trouser leg, ready for a ride, and Caleb lifted him into the back of the car.

  Luke seemed oblivious to anything but the problem at hand. Dropping to his knees, he peered into the crankshaft opening. He struck Caleb as a man who did everything with careful consideration.

  Luke waved his hand, indicating he was finished, and Caleb turned off the engine. “So what do you think?”

  “Sounds like too much fuel’s getting into the sparking device.” Elbow resting on his arm, Luke stroked his chin. “If we can figure out how to control the fuel, it should solve the problem.”

  Caleb nodded. “I’d sure appreciate anything you can do.”

  “I can also make a brace to keep the crank from kicking back. Probably won’t keep you from gettin’ shot, but it’ll save you from a broken arm or two.”

  “I guess that’s better than nothing,” Caleb said. “Can you do anything about those bullet holes?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got some orders ahead of you that I have to finish today. I can work on it tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll figure out how to make a brace to keep the flywheel stable.”

  Caleb thanked him and bent in front of Bertha. A woman gasped and he looked up to see an audience staring at him. “It’s perfectly safe,” he assured the crowd. “Nothing to be afraid of. Now stand back.” He waved his arm. “Stand waaay back.”

  Cactus Patch had a problem, which meant that Bessie Adams had a problem. Now that the nice doctor was staying at her house, she actually had two problems. For sure as the sky was blue the dear man needed a wife, but with the long hours he worked, he’d never find one on his own.

  It was up to Bessie to find him the right woman, and that she had every intention of doing, after her nephew’s wedding. First things first.

  “I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” her sister, Lula-Belle, said that Tuesday morning after Bessie poured out her heart around the kitchen table. She was younger than Bessie by two years, but you’d never know it by her old-fashioned thinking. The drab clothes and tight corkscrew curls Lula-Belle favored didn’t just assert prudery but a closed mind as well. The only concession Lula-Belle made to fashion was her ridiculous feathered hats.

  “Nothing?” Bessie threw up her hands. She had just explained that the town’s drinking problems could ruin Kate’s and Luke’s wedding, and all her sister could say was nothing?

  Lula-Belle’s mouth puckered. “I don’t see what business it is of yours what men do with their time.”

  Bessie reached for the pitcher of lemonade. “Do you want Harvey Winkleman to pass out at the piano like he did at Roy Trumble’s funeral?” Mercy. With all the inebriated men at the funeral, it was a miracle the undertaker didn’t bury the wrong person.

  “There’s nothing you can do about it,” Lula-Belle said.

  “Nonsense. There’s plenty I can do.” Bessie filled Lula-Belle’s glass. “I’m going to insist that every saloon close the night before the wedding. That way, not only will our singer and pianist be sober, but the guests will be too.”

  Lula-Belle’s eyes opened wide. “How in heaven’s name do you plan to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure out a way.”

  Lula-Belle’s springy curls bounced all over her shaking head. “Every time you get a bee in your bonnet, something goes wrong.”

  Bessie filled her own glass. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? What about the time you decided we needed to make our husbands take notice of us? When you started getting all fancied up, Sam thought you were sweet on another man and it almost broke up your marriage.”

  “This is different.” Bessie set the pitcher down. “This isn’t about me. It’s about our nephew’s wedding.”

  Lula-Belle reached for her glass. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Oh butterball. You have a bad feeling about everything.”

  Molly hesitated in front of Donny’s door, her heart heavy. Popping a lemon drop in her mouth to soothe her scratchy throat, she braced herself with a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in.” His muffled voice sounded a mile away.

  He lay faceup on the bed where she’d left him hours earlier. He didn’t even bother to look at her when she entered the room. Instead he continued to stare at the ceiling, his face bathed in the yellow light of the kerosene lamp.

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  Donny said nothing and the silence was like a wall between them.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and the springs squeaked beneath her weight. It hurt to stand but it even hurt to sit, and she rubbed her back. Never had she worked as hard as she had these last two weeks. She longed to collapse in bed but not before making peace with her brother.

  Donny turned his head, his eyes dull as tarnished copper. “Why won’t you let the doctor help me?”

  She inhaled. “Donny, you mean the world to me. If I lost you . . .” Nightmares of the fire continued to plague her. In her dreams she hadn’t been able to reach him and she continued to wake every night in a cold sweat. “Dr. Fairbanks had no right to jeopardize your safety.”

  “He looks at me like a real person.”

  “You are a real person.”

  “Then stop looking at me like I’m some poor helpless child!”

  She withered beneath his hostile look. “That’s not how I think of you. It’s not, Donny. Honest.”

  He stared at her but said nothing, and suddenly he didn’t look like the boy she’d known so well—the boy she loved and cared for. Instead he looked like a stranger.

  She’d noticed the physical changes—the chin stubble. The way his trousers barely reached midcalf. Then there was all that voicecracking as he changed from tenor to baritone. She had become an expert at averting her eyes when she dressed him, looking away at just the right moment when he bathed. But this went far beyond bodily changes. It was as if he was about to cross some invisible line and leave her behind.

  “You’re smart and brig
ht . . .” She reached for a dog-eared journal. “You have to be to understand this.” Donny enjoyed reading his science magazines aloud and explaining the technical terms to her. “Read to me.”

  “I don’t want to read.”

  “Then I’ll read to you.” She flipped through the pages. “’It has long been imagined that the phenomenon of comet’s tails is in some way due to a solar electrical repulsion.’” She looked up. “This makes my head want to explode.”

  “It’s better than those sappy dime novels you read.” He hugged himself and made a loud kissing sound to imitate a lurid cover.

  “They’re not sappy . . . Besides,” she added with more than a little regret, “I’m too busy to read.” The key to their future was the ranch. She could no longer waste time reading about true love. Such things existed only in books.

  She tossed the journal on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.

  “Molly.”

  “Yes?”

  “When Dr. Fairbanks pushed me around the courtyard, it felt like I had legs.”

  She gripped the door handle and tried to breathe. The doctor had no right to interfere and had only made things worse. When she was only ten, a wealthy woman had invited her and the other miners’ children to a grand house for Christmas dinner. Molly had never known people lived in such luxury, and the experience made it harder than ever to go back to the tent she called home. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  Chapter 11

  It was a hot Sunday morning but a slight breeze made the heat bearable and kept the flies away. Nearly three weeks had passed since Molly and Donny had arrived at the ranch, and it was hard to believe it was the middle of June already. Brodie said that July was the beginning of monsoon season, marked by high temperatures, wind, and rain, but for now the skies were clear.

  Once she settled Donny on the verandah, Molly stood by his side and stretched, filling her lungs with fresh air.