Dawn Comes Early
Page 19
He shrugged. “It’s a big desert out there.”
Kate’s temper flared. “The man is dangerous. Evil. He had a gun and a knife and he threatened to use them. He likens himself to the bandit Jesse James.” On and on she went, making Cactus Joe sound worse than he actually was.
Nothing she said seemed to convince the marshal to take her kidnapping seriously. Seething, she glared at him, but then an idea occurred to her. The marshal had at least one thing in common with Cactus Joe—his ego.
Elbows on the table she rested her chin on folded hands. “When I finish Cactus Joe’s story I will naturally devote a full chapter to the man who brings him to justice.” She gave the marshal a meaningful look. “I hope that man is you.”
Her ploy seemed to work because suddenly he seemed more interested. “Well now, ma’am. That would be mighty nice of you.” He donned his hat. “I’ll get a posse together and we’ll see what we can find. I’ll let you know if I have good news.”
“We won’t hold our breaths, Marshal,” Miss Walker muttered.
Seeming not to hear Miss Walker, he leaned toward Kate. “Just be sure you spell my name right. That’s Morris with two r’s.”
He left and Kate rested her hands on her lap. A posse. She smiled. Cactus Joe would be so pleased.
Miss Walker cast a probing look Kate’s way. “You have no idea how I’ve tried to make the marshal do something besides sit on his endgate.” She shrugged and took a sip of coffee, setting the cup down with a clatter. “Hmm.” She rose and walked to the doorway and stopped, her back to Kate. “Never thought I’d say this, but someone with the imagination of a fiction writer might be just what this ranch needs to take it into the next century.” With that she was gone, her hurried footsteps fading away.
For the longest while Kate didn’t move except to smile. At last she had earned Miss Walker’s approval, maybe even her respect. It’s what she wanted. It’s what she’d worked for all these weeks. The Last Chance Ranch was her chance for a long and happy future, and she had no intention of letting anyone or anything ruin it for her.
And that went double for Luke Adams.
Chapter 26
With solidity of strength acquired from weeks of drudgery, she banished Brandon from her life, if not her heart.
A week later Kate paused outside the blacksmith shop. Luke had ridden out to the ranch several times to see her, but each time she was either on the range or had Rosita send him away with apologies.
She wasn’t certain she was ready to see him even now, but she couldn’t keep avoiding him. Still, she had just about made up her mind to leave when Homer appeared by her side. She stooped to pet him and he licked her cheek. She drew back and laughed.
Following Miss Walker’s orders, Ruckus had driven her to town. He waited for her now in his parked wagon across the street. She was grateful for his protection, but she regretted not having time alone. Even on the ranch she was constantly watched and guarded.
She no longer feared Cactus Joe, but she wouldn’t put it past him to kidnap her again to finish his book. She glanced in both directions. A man crossing the street was similar in height to Cactus Joe, but when he looked her way she realized it was the owner of the mercantile store, Mr. Green. Another figure gave her pause, this one a Mexican with a limp, but a glimpse of the man’s broad face convinced her it was not Cactus Joe.
She walked into the blacksmith shop. She felt guilty for keeping Ruckus waiting. The sooner she finished what she had come to do, the sooner they could return to the ranch.
The clanging sound of iron upon iron greeted her as she stepped into the shop, her gaze freezing upon Luke’s long, lean form. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow beneath his brown leather apron. Each downward swing of his arm was swift and powerful. The anvil rang with the heavy blows of his hammer, sending sparks darting about like little fireflies.
Homer brushed against her, reminding her with a start why she had come. “Luke?”
Arm frozen over his head, he glanced over his shoulder and his mouth curved upward. He gave the piece of steel he was working on one final whack before setting his hammer down and turning to face her.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, feeling oddly out of breath.
“Your timing is perfect. I’m done here.” He picked up a towel and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I stopped by yesterday, but Rosita said you were out on the range.”
She nodded and took a deep breath, an uneasy silence filling the air. “Your aunts came to see me and brought my favorite bonbons.” A steady parade of well-wishers had streamed to the ranch to see how she was.
Kate was touched, even though Miss Walker insisted everyone was just being nosy. Kate couldn’t imagine people stopping what they were doing in Boston just to check on a neighbor, especially if they lived a distance away.
He tossed the towel on the workbench. “Leave it to my two aunts.”
Her gaze fell upon a miniature windmill on his workbench. “What a lovely windmill,” she exclaimed. “It’s perfect.” She leaned in for a closer look. “It looks so real. Is it a toy?”
Her interest seemed to please him. “Not a toy, a working model. I’m trying to design one that can be oiled from the ground.” He demonstrated and the top of the windmill tilted downward.
“That’s amazing.” The fine craftsmanship took her breath away. “Just think of all the time that will save. The lives and limbs. When will it be ready to market?”
“Whoa! That’s gonna be awhile. It’s too flimsy. It won’t stand up to the wind. I’m working on another design.”
She met his gaze and yet more silence stretched between them. She felt oddly shy, awkward, like a schoolgirl talking to a boy alone for the first time.
“About last week. What happened . . .” She spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully as if learning to speak a foreign language. “You saved my life.” She never would have been able to find her way back to the ranch by herself. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” White teeth flashed against his tanned skin. “Come, I have something to show you.” He motioned her out the door and around back.
Homer raced ahead and waited for them in front of the small wooden shed attached to the back of Luke’s shop.
Luke patted Homer. “What do you say, boy?” he asked in a conspirator’s voice. “Is it okay if I show Kate what you have?”
Homer barked.
“I think that’s a yes. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside before she could protest.
It took a moment before her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A collie lay in a corner nursing three tiny pups.
“Ohhhh, they’re adorable,” she said softly.
As if agreeing, Homer barked twice. “Woof, woof.”
Luke laughed. “Have you ever seen such a proud pa?” He dropped onto his haunches and scooped up the smallest pup in a single hand. Even as the young canine was held aloft, he made little sucking sounds. Luke rose to his feet and placed the pup in her arms.
The puppy was so young he hadn’t yet opened his eyes. “He feels so soft.” She glanced at Luke with a broad smile and found him watching her with a smile of his own.
“Soon as he’s weaned he’s yours, if you want him.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open. “Mine?” She’d never owned a dog or any animal, for that matter, and didn’t know what to say.
“His name is Locker.”
She held the puppy in front of her with both hands, his curling tail dangling between her wrists. “Locker?”
“After John Locke. Some philosopher Michael told me about.”
Her eyes met his and she felt a well of emotion rise inside. She handed the puppy back to him and practically stumbled out of the shed. Once outside, she quickened her pace.
Chasing her down, he grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. “Why did you take off like that?”
“You don’t have to do that, Luke.”
“Name dogs after philosophers.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“You don’t have to please me!” She shook her head and remembered her original reason for coming. “I’m afraid I led you on and I didn’t mean to.”
A muscle tightened at his jaw and his gaze sharpened. “Led me on, how?”
“I was upset when you found me. I wasn’t myself. Even so, that does not justify”—she couldn’t say kiss because that sounded far too intimate—“what we did, and for that, I apologize.”
“Are you saying you’re sorry you kissed me?” he asked, his voice curt.
She sucked in her breath. “There’s no room in my life for anything but the ranch.”
Kissing Luke had been surprisingly pleasant but that was because she had been half out of her mind when he found her. The soft, caressing kisses she wrote about were a figment of her imagination. They promised love everlasting, and no such thing existed between a man and a woman in real life. Men weren’t dependable. Kisses held no meaning. Love wasn’t kind. She wanted no part of it except for the fantasies she weaved and the stories she once wrote.
“The ranch.” His lip curled upward. “It’s always the ranch. Nothing else matters to you.”
“I’m sorry, Luke.” She counted on Miss Walker’s spinster pact to protect her from all future heartache and disappointment. She’d had enough of both to last a lifetime. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on meeting a man like Luke. A man so intent on pleasing her, he’d resorted to naming a dog after some historical figure he’d probably never heard of.
“I don’t know what else to say . . .” She wanted to erase the pain on his face, the disbelief in his eyes, but she didn’t know how. “I have obligations and responsibilities and—”
“Drat, Kate!” His voice snapped through the air like a whip. “Whenever you feel cornered you hide behind some fancy words. Say what you mean plain and simple.”
“All right,” she yelled back, more angry at herself than at him. She never should have let him kiss her, but her biggest failing was kissing him back. “I want you to forget we ever met!”
His hard eyes bore down on her. “Is that what you want? Really?”
“Yes,” she whispered, flinching inwardly at the sharp pain that sliced through her.
He took a step back, a closed look on his face. “Then consider it done.”
The finality of his words affected her like a slamming door. It was what she wanted, of course. She only wished he hadn’t made it so difficult. She quickly turned away and practically ran all the way to the wagon where Ruckus waited for her.
Climbing onto the wagon seat, she swallowed the lump in her throat and kept her head down.
Ruckus acted like he didn’t notice, but he’d have to be blind not to know she was upset. “Mind if we stop at the post office?” he asked. “Expecting a letter from my son.”
She swiped at a tear. “I don’t mind.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead, blowing a wayward tendril from her face. It was done. She did what she had to do. From this moment forward nothing or no one would be allowed to distract her from the ranch.
“I’m ready for a faster horse,” she said. “Decker’s too slow.”
Ruckus glanced at her from the corner of his eyes but said nothing.
“I also want to carry my own weapon. I’m ready to go full hog as a rancher,” she said, using a term Ruckus often used. If she was going to be a rancher she might as well start talking like one. “And spurs. I want spurs.”
Ruckus moved his jaw up and down like a cow chewing its cud. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said at last. “As long as you ain’t chasing after no wind.”
Forgetting to hide her face she stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He pulled up in front of the post office, reached into his pocket, and drew out a small Bible. “Look it up yourself,” he said. “Ecclesiastes chapters 1 and 2. By the way. It’s yours. The Bible. I reckon you’ll be needin’ it.”
Hands at his waist, feet apart, Luke watched the wagon carrying Kate roll down the street.
Good riddance! What did he need a woman like that for, anyway? Her and her fancy schooling. What did he have to offer someone like that?
So she wanted him to forget that they’d ever met, did she? That’s exactly what he intended to do—God give him strength.
Drat! Life had been so simple before she came to town. Now he acted like a plain fool. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. All he could do was think about the memory of her sweet lips on his. No more!
He spun around and walked into his shop with Homer at his heel. He had work to do and no time to think about Kate. He picked up a piece of iron and set it down again. He grabbed a wagon wheel and tossed it aside. Who was he kidding?
He couldn’t work. He couldn’t even look at his workbench without remembering her lying there, looking at him with her big blue eyes.
Those same eyes had often been guarded when they looked at him, but not on the day he held her in his arms and kissed her. Then he saw longing—at least for a while—and it was a longing that matched his own. She’d pushed him away in the desert, but he hadn’t taken it seriously. She’d just come through a difficult ordeal. Any woman would react similarly after being kidnapped—or so he thought. Today, he knew better. She wanted no part of him.
With a sweep of his arm he sent his carefully constructed windmill flying, and poor Homer seeking cover.
It was his own fault. He’d known from the start that she wasn’t the woman for him. He was a blacksmith plain and simple. She was a college-educated woman, a writer. It was plumb crazy to think she would be interested in someone like him.
No matter. He’d made a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. He had simple needs and they certainly didn’t include the likes of Miss Kate Tenney.
Bessie sat in the seat next to her husband, Sam. It occurred to her how handsome he looked dressed in his dark pants, boiled white shirt, and spiffy bow tie. It was hard to believe they’d been married nearly forty years. He’d brought her to Arizona Territory as a young bride shortly after the area had been taken over by the United States. In all that time, she’d never felt as insecure about their marriage as she did today.
He was up to something, she knew it. She could feel it in her bones.
It was the fourth Sunday in June, which meant the circuit preacher was in town. In honor of the occasion she and the other churchgoers dressed to the tees in their Sunday go-to-meeting best and, for the most part, were occupied with pious thoughts.
Cactus Patch had a proper church with a skyscraping steeple, large wooden cross, and stained glass windows. What they didn’t have was a full-time preacher, though heaven knew they could use one. Since Reverend Johns ran away with the offering five years earlier, they had to make do with a saddlebag preacher who rode into town every other Sunday spreading the Word as one might spread flower seeds, hoping that one or two would take root.
Sam parked behind a long line of wagons and buckboards. Before Bessie had time to leave her seat, he lowered himself to the ground with the enthusiasm—if not vitality—of a much younger man. He then shuffled around their dapple gray horse and appeared at her side. A crooked grin made its way from ear to ear as he offered his hand for assistance.
He hadn’t shown her that much courtesy when they were courting. Oh yes, he was up to something, all right, and she intended to find out exactly what it was. Keeping her suspicions to herself, she let him assist her to the ground. He surprised her by offering his bent elbow, and she slipped her arm through his.
Upon seeing her sister, she waved. “Sam, save me a seat. I’ll be there in a minute.” She broke loose from him and hurried to greet Lula-Belle and her husband, Murphy.
She grabbed her sister’s arm. “I need to talk to you. In private. You don’t mind, do you, Murphy? It’ll only take a short while.”
“I’ll go on ahead,” he said.
Bessie waited for Murphy to walk away before pulling Lula-Belle aside. “Sam’s up to something.”
Lula-Belle stared at her from behind an outlandish veiled hat topped with an oversized black ostrich feather. Since the ostrich farm opened in Phoenix, almost everyone could afford the previously rare feathers, which in Bessie’s opinion was a detriment to good taste.
Had it not been for Lula-Belle’s white woolen shawl, onlookers might have mistaken her floral print dress and feathered hat for an overgrown flower box. Bessie quickly banished the uncharitable image from her mind. This was Sunday and she was in church. Pious thoughts, pious thoughts.
“What do you mean he’s up to something?”
“He bought me a saucepan to go with the frying pan he gave me forty years ago. Don’t ask me how he was able to find one to match after all this time.”
He bought the first pan out of guilt. Oh yes, she saw him gape at that young Mexican woman, saw the way his gaze followed her every move. He didn’t know she saw—he was too busy lollygagging. Forgiving and dutiful wife that she was, she’d not uttered a word about the incident until now.
Lula-Belle inclined her head. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Nice?” Bessie glanced around and lowered her voice. “There’s nothing nice about it. I think he’s interested in someone else.”
Lula-Belle’s mouth dropped open. “No!”
Bessie forced herself to put on a brave front. “Why else would he buy me a saucepan?”
“I have to admit that does sound rather . . . odd. But we’re talking about Sam. He wouldn’t part with his old army boots until you put your foot down. Even with the War Between the States over for thirty years.”
Bessie tapped her foot. “What does that have to do with my pots and pans?”