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

by Margaret Brownley

  Donny stared at the door long after Eleanor had shut herself in her office. A job on the ranch? He couldn’t believe it. But Miss Walker didn’t seem like the kind of person to say something she didn’t mean.

  He told the truth. He was good at numbers but only because he’d read that mathematics was a necessary skill for astronomers. Back in Dobson Creek he spent sleepless nights staring at the canvas ceiling, multiplying and dividing numbers in his head.

  The first of every month he made his sister take him to the general store to purchase the latest science journal. He was able to teach himself basic trigonometry and calculus from the astronomical graphs printed inside. But that was when he still believed that it was only a matter of time before he would get up and walk.

  He stopped believing in miracles the day his father died. Molly wasn’t allowed in the church and he would always remember sitting outside in the cold while a pitiful small group of miners paid their respects.

  Whether it was the reality of his father’s death or the cruelty of other people, he didn’t know, but his dream of becoming an astronomer no longer seemed possible.

  Now his mind spun with exciting new possibilities. Never once had he considered working on a ranch.

  The doc’s voice sounded in his head. “You can do anything you want to do.”

  Was that true?

  Dare he imagine himself working in the ranch office while his sister chased cattle and trained horses? Would Miss Walker trust him enough to pay the bills and make the money last until the next shipment of cattle sold? Would Molly then look at him differently— not just like her poor baby brother but like a man?

  Rosita walked into the room, feather duster in hand. Seeing him, she backed away. She always tried to avoid him, but she wasn’t alone in that regard. Both Rosita and her brother, Jose, treated him like he had the plague or something.

  “Wait!” he called. “Don’t go. I’m not going to ask you to come near. I just want you to . . . open the curtains in my room. Would you do that for me? Please.”

  Rosita nodded. She backed all the way out of the room before she turned and fled.

  That night Molly knocked on her brother’s bedroom door. It was time to get him ready for bed, but she also wanted to talk to him. She didn’t anticipate any difficulty in telling Donny her decision to find a saloon job. The hard part would come tomorrow when she tried to talk a saloon owner into hiring her. They’d want to hear her sing, naturally, and no matter how many hard candies she sucked, her voice still sounded froggy.

  But that wasn’t the only problem. Most proprietors didn’t want her to just sing, they wanted her to entertain men in other ways. Sinful ways. She would rather starve to death than prostitute herself, but she couldn’t let Donny go hungry. Never in a million years could she let him do without necessities. Oh, God, please don’t let it come to that.

  “Donny, I need to talk to you.” She sat on the edge of his bed. “What are you reading?”

  He held up the book so she could see the cover. “Beef Bonanza: How to Get Rich on the Plains by Gen. James S. Brisbin.”

  She made a face. She couldn’t imagine anything duller.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to read it,” he said.

  She stifled a yawn. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. And there wasn’t a bone in her body that didn’t hurt.

  “Why this sudden interest in cattle?”

  “Miss Walker said if you worked out, she might be able to find a job for me.”

  She stared at him. “A job?”

  Donny frowned. “You don’t have to look so surprised. I’m not a dunce. I’m good with numbers.”

  “I know you are, Donny. I didn’t mean it that way.” She tried to remember when she last saw Donny this excited. If only she didn’t have to tell him their days on the ranch might be numbered. Surprised to see the curtains open, she walked over to the window to close them, stalling for time. A flash of lightning danced across the darkened sky, followed by a low rumbling.

  “Leave them open,” he said.

  His request surprised her. Normally he kept the curtains closed day and night. “Are you sure?”

  “Dr. Fairbanks said if I changed my mind and wanted him to help me, all I had to do was open the curtains.”

  “You want to work with him?” She couldn’t believe this sudden change. Donny had been so against accepting the doctor’s help.

  “I like the doctor. He’s funny.”

  “Funny?” She could think of many ways to describe Caleb, but funny was not one of them. Tall, handsome, and . . . She quickly banished the thought.

  “How do you mean, funny?” she asked.

  “He drives a motor buggy and is always asking questions about the human body. I never know the answers, but he can’t answer my questions either.”

  “Your questions?”

  “About the stars and planets. He didn’t even know the composition of the sun.”

  She smiled. “I bet he knows it now.”

  He nodded and grinned. “Leaving the curtains open is a secret code like the songs the slaves used to sing.” His brows drew together. “I don’t know if the doctor can help me, though.”

  “I have a feeling that if anyone can help you, it’s Dr. Fairbanks.”

  He nodded. “What did you want to talk about? You said you wanted to talk to me.”

  A crash of thunder made her jump. “Oh . . . uh . . . it’s not important. Let’s get you ready for bed.” She took the book out of his hand.

  A half hour later she tucked him in and left the room, her mind racing. Donny working for Miss Walker? Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined anything like that.

  But what if Miss Walker asked her to leave the ranch? After what happened earlier with the wild mustang, that was entirely possible.

  She hurried down the hall, determined to talk to Brodie—beg him on hands and knees if necessary. Somehow she had to make him give her one more chance—for Donny’s sake.

  She opened the front door. It was raining hard and already a river of mud and water separated the ranch house from the bunkhouse and barn. Her talk with Brodie would have to wait.

  Caleb almost missed the open curtains. For the better part of a week he’d checked Donny’s window as he whizzed by and the curtains were always closed. He wasn’t even sure they were open today. Maybe the breeze had simply blown them apart.

  Since his horseless carriage could not go in reverse, he swung a wide circle. Careful to avoid the puddles left from last night’s rainstorm, he pulled up in front of the ranch house for a closer look. Now that he had stopped the car, he realized there was no movement in the air. The wind that greeted the dawn had died down, leaving no question in his mind: the curtains were open. Wide open.

  Chapter 16

  Molly shifted in the saddle and took in her surroundings. She’d never before ridden out this far on the range. Had no idea that the Last Chance spread across such a wide area. Nor had she seen so many cattle at once since the day of the stampede.

  She was still in Brodie’s bad graces and it was a relief to take a break from his dark accusatory expressions. He had reluctantly agreed to give her another chance, but she had yet to prove she deserved it.

  Since the incident with the stallion, she’d been relegated to cleaning stalls and grooming horses instead of training them. She didn’t complain and had a lot to be grateful for now that Donny had agreed to let Caleb work with him.

  With this thought she allowed herself to relax. She popped a lemon drop in her mouth to soothe her raw throat.

  She rode at the tail end of a line of riders trailing each other single file to protect the valuable grass as much as possible. Behind her, Ruckus drove a wagon filled with fence-mending equipment and salt licks.

  It was July fourth—Independence Day. In years past, Dobson Creek had celebrated the holiday with great fanfare, and it was a shock to learn that it was business as usual on the ranch. Donny would be disappointed. He loved watch
ing the parade, but mostly he liked the poppers, pinwheels, and double-headers that lit up the night skies.

  How quickly time passed. It had been a little more than five weeks since she arrived at the ranch and the fire was now a distant though no less unpleasant memory.

  Miss Walker took the lead today, followed by Stretch and Feedbag.

  It was hard to believe it had rained last night. The ground looked bone dry but the cacti were fuller and the camphor-like odor of the creosote plant tickled Molly’s nose. Nothing was prettier than the desert in bloom. Red, white, and yellow flowers dotted every cactus. Prairie dogs yipped and wild mustangs lifted their heads in wary watchfulness. How she wished Donny could see them!

  Maybe one of the ranch hands would bring him out here, though she hesitated to ask. For the most part, the others avoided her brother.

  Donny seemed to like the doctor and his asthma had greatly improved. More than that, he seemed happier and less frustrated. She still hadn’t noticed any improvement in mobility, even though Donny did breathing and arm exercises every day.

  Caleb said it would take time—but how much time? She grew more impatient with each passing day. How much longer could she keep up with both her ranch duties and care of her brother? How much longer, Lord?

  Up ahead, Miss Walker and the ranch hands stopped. Stretch pulled out his gun and fired. Two wolves ran off. Shuddering, Molly urged her horse forward.

  Some fifty or more dead cattle were scattered across the landscape. Molly stared at the carcasses in horror.

  Ruckus jumped from the wagon and sauntered over to the nearest bovine already covered in flies. “Lightning got ’em,” he announced.

  “Let’s hope that’s the extent of the damage,” Miss Walker said, and Molly marveled that the ranch owner could sound so calm. “Bury them. We don’t want them attracting more wolves.”

  Ruckus nodded and hurried to move the wagon closer to the scene.

  Miss Walker glanced at Molly. “You come with me,” she said in her usual clipped voice.

  Molly didn’t want to dig a bunch of graves, but riding alone with Miss Walker was hardly a welcome alternative. The woman was as intimidating as a charging bull.

  Miss Walker rode by her side. “Your brother requires a lot more care than you implied when we first spoke.”

  Molly’s heart thudded. Did Miss Walker intend to dismiss her? A short time ago she might have felt a sense of relief had the ranch owner sent her packing, but not now. Not with Donny having his heart set on working at the ranch.

  “Caleb . . . Dr. Fairbanks is helping him to become more independent.” If Miss Walker thought it odd that Molly used the doctor’s given name, she kept it to herself.

  “Brodie told me about the incident with the stallion.”

  Molly’s hands tightened on the reins and her horse snorted. She forced herself to relax. “I . . . I assure you nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  Miss Walker studied her. Molly’s stomach knotted and she shriveled under the withering glare. Had it been possible to disappear into a hole, she would have gladly done so.

  “You could have been killed.” The ranch owner pressed her heels into her horse’s side and galloped off.

  Molly watched her, not knowing what to think. Was that concern for her safety or simply a statement of fact? It was hard to know.

  Miss Walked stopped a short distance away and Molly eased her horse alongside her. A line of cattle headed for a water trough by an enormous windmill. Not one steer had the familiar LC brand. Someone had cut the fence so that the cattle had free access to the ranch’s water supply.

  Several mustangs grazed nearby. One horse lay in the grass, body swollen and heaving in distress.

  Next to her Miss Walker sat rigid in her saddle, her expression hidden beneath the shade of her wide-brimmed hat. “Now I know how my horse got strangles.”

  So far Baxter remained an isolated case, probably because Miss Walker had ordered her men to scrub every water and feeding trough on the property to prevent spreading the infection.

  The air had grown uncommonly still all of a sudden, the huge windmill blades frozen as if painted onto the cloudless sky. It was as if nature held its breath waiting to see what Miss Walker would do or say next. The wait was short.

  She pulled out her Colt and carefully aimed a shot at the base of the horse’s ear, putting it out of its misery. The other horses took off running and the cattle scattered, bawling.

  Miss Walker slid her weapon back into her holster.

  Ears ringing from the pistol’s report, Molly looked away from the unfortunate animal. “What do you plan on doing with those claim jumpers?”

  “Claim jumpers!” The phrase hung between them so long Molly was certain she had said something wrong.

  Finger to the brim, Miss Walker pushed her hat back. “Hmm. Never heard it put that way but that’s a good name for them.” After a moment she added, “If I knew what to do I’d have done it already.” She leveled gray eyes at Molly. “What do they do about claim jumpers in Dobson Creek?”

  “You mean other than lynching them?”

  Miss Walker gave a hollow laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

  The touch of humor in Miss Walker’s voice surprised Molly. Encouraged, she explained, “One man got rid of a bunch of lowly claim jumpers by salting the property several miles downstream.”

  “Salting?”

  “He sprinkled gold dust around the ground and threw in a couple of nuggets for good measure. Then he started a rumor in town that he’d found the mother lode. I’m telling you, those rascals took off like a bunch of rabid wolves to make a claim.”

  “Hmm.” Miss Walker’s thoughtful gaze had none of the earlier rancor and Molly felt encouraged. A bellowing sound drew their attention to the distant fence through which a broad white face appeared. The bovine wasn’t interested in them. Instead her attention was focused on a shaking bush. A young brown and white calf emerged from the shrub and bounded on spindly legs toward his mother.

  After the two reunited, Miss Walker said, “I do believe you solved my problem.” She quirked a thin gray brow. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.” She turned her horse and raced back to where the men were busy digging a mass grave, and it was all Molly could do to keep up with her.

  “Stop what you’re doing!” Miss Walker rode up to Ruckus. “I want you to take a couple of those corpses and put them as close to the Bennett ranch as possible. Make certain there are no visible burn marks. Stretch? Where’s Stretch?”

  “I’m here, ma’am.” Stretch pressed the spade of his shovel into the soil with his boot and leaned on the handle.

  “Ride into town and let it be known that cattle are dying at the Last Chance Ranch due to disease. That should make them think twice before cutting my fence.”

  The men looked at each other and Ruckus rubbed his chin. “It could backfire,” he said.

  Miss Walker snapped a look in his direction. “Backfire how?”

  “If buyers get wind that our cattle are diseased, they’ll be less likely to purchase our beef.”

  Miss Walker considered this for a moment. “If we have to keep fighting for grass and water, our cattle will be too emaciated to sell.”

  Much discussion followed, but in the end, the ranch hands agreed the possible rewards were greater than the risks.

  The brim of his Stetson pulled low, Stretch scratched the back of his head. “What disease do you have in mind, ma’am?”

  “How about tick fever?” Feedbag said.

  “Foot and mouth disease?” Stretch added.

  “Gold fever?” Molly suggested, half-jokingly.

  That got the men’s attention. “The cattle died of gold fever?” Feedbag shook his head. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “That’s because no such thing exists,” Miss Walker said. She thought for a moment. “The investors won’t know what they’re dealing with and that could be a good thing.”

  Feedbag shook his head. �
��They’ll never go for it.”

  Stretch shrugged. “They might. Least for a while. That will give us time to repair the fences and come up with another plan.”

  “Very well,” Miss Walker said. “Gold fever it is.”

  Chapter 17

  Caleb turned his car down Main Street and blinked. Despite the early morning hour, a long line of people crowded the boardwalk from one end of the street to the other. It wasn’t until he pulled up to his office that he realized the line began at his door. “What in blazes?”

  He turned off the motor and the inevitable backfire rendered the crowd silent. Something about the cool morning air made Bertha want to get in the last word.

  A horse neighed and tried to pull away from the hitching post. Magic barked and wagged his tail and waited for Caleb’s command.

  “Come on, boy.” He climbed out of the motor buggy and lifted Magic to the ground. The moment Caleb stepped up to the front of the line, everyone began talking at once. Something about gold fever . . .

  Unable to make heads or tails out of their babble, Caleb waved his arms. “Quiet! One at a time.” He pointed to the owner of the mercantile store. “Suppose you tell me what’s got folks all riled up.”

  Mr. Green assumed an air of importance, his spectacles riding the tip of his nose. “There’s an epidemic of gold fever, and me and the others want to get ourselves one of them shots so we don’t get it too.”

  Caleb rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Gold fever or its equivalent was probably the oldest disease known to mankind, the main symptom being greed, but it was the first he’d heard of it being a medical problem.

  “If you want a cure for gold fever, you’re in the wrong place,” he said, lifting his voice to be heard at the far end of the line. “Church has a better cure than I do.”

  “We ain’t talking about that kind of gold fever,” another man yelled out. “We’re talking about the kind that kills animals.”

  Mr. Green nodded. “Hundreds of Last Chance cattle have died.”