Dawn Comes Early (31 page)

She frowned. At least that's what she'd always thought.

Moments later Bessie took her place in the church pew between her sister and Sam. It was a good choice, not too far in front, not too far back. Best of all, it allowed her to keep an eye on Miss Tenney, who, either by choice or good fortune, sat directly across the aisle from Luke.

The choir director stood in front of the congregation. “Please rise.”

The organ groaned, voices lifted, and Luke glanced across the aisle.

Bessie elbowed her sister and nodded her head toward the couple. “He's looking at her.”

Lula-Belle lifted her head to stare over her hymnal at their nephew, her voice cracking as she reached for a high note.

The hymn ended and the last gasping organ chord faded away. Feet shuffled as churchgoers took their seats, and Bessie glanced at her husband. He looked straight ahead without so much as a wandering eye, which only fueled her suspicions that much more. A restless man by nature, Sam wasn't usually so attentive. He generally fidgeted and let his gaze wander during worship.

The preacher took his place behind the lectern. Dressed in black trousers and a long duster, open to reveal a white shirt and string tie, his top hat rose above a ruddy square face.

“I'm sure you've all heard of the daring Frenchman known the world over as Charles Blondin,” he began, his voice booming.

Next to Bessie, Murphy folded his arms and muttered an unholy word beneath his breath.

Her sister jabbed her husband with her elbow and gave him a stern look.

Looking properly chastised, Murphy muttered, “Another Blondin analogy.”

The preacher continued, “He walked across the Niagara Falls on a tightrope not once, not twice, but many times. He even walked blindfolded. During one crossing he carried a stove on his back. He stopped halfway across the chasm to make breakfast for himself, much to the amazement of onlookers.”

Miss Tenney looked across the aisle at Luke and the two exchanged a quick glance before turning their heads to face the front of the church.

Bessie glanced at Sam, but his gaze remained glued upon the preacher. Any suspicion that Miss Tenney might possibly be the woman who had turned Sam's head was immediately put to rest.

The preacher continued to drone on about the amazing Blondin, during which time Luke glanced at Miss Tenney at least a half dozen times.

Bessie knew this because she counted. Obviously, the two were meant for each other. All they needed was a little shove in the right direction—and a barn dance seemed like the perfect place to plan some strategic moves.

She glanced up at Sam. She wasn't above shoving him too—over a cliff, if necessary. God forgive her.
Pious thoughts, pious thoughts
.

The preacher paused, indicating he was about to get to the point of his story, and a collective sigh rippled through the congregation.

“When Blondin asked the Prince of Wales if he could carry him across the Niagara Falls on his back, the prince declined. Even though Blondin had proven his ability to successfully cross the falls numerous times, the prince did not trust him.” The preacher paused for effect and in a softer voice asked, “Who would you trust enough to carry you over the falls? Your wife? Your husband?”

Bessie glanced at Sam, whose gaze locked with hers. Sucking in her breath, she quickly pulled her gaze away and stared straight ahead.

The preacher closed the Bible and stared out over the congregation. “Or would you put your trust in God?”

In the past, Bessie would have answered that query with a resounding
yes
. It would never occur to her not to trust God. But knowing her husband was interested in someone else changed everything. Her entire life had been turned upside down and she no longer knew whom to trust. Her marriage on the line, she now questioned everyone and everything. As much as she hated to admit it, she even questioned the heavenly Father.
Pious thoughts, pious thoughts
.

Kate had a difficult time relating to the preacher's sermon. Trust God? She didn't trust anyone, let alone God. Knowing that Luke sat only a few feet away, she couldn't even trust herself.

I won't look at him, I won't
.

But she did look—but only because she sensed him looking at her. She heaved a sigh and focused her eyes directly in front of her.

“Who do you trust?” the preacher asked again.

Not Luke, not anyone.

She hadn't wanted to come to church today, but Ruckus insisted it would do her a world of good. “You can't let Cactus Joe turn you into a hermit. Me and the boys will watch out for you. Don't you worry none about that.”

As good as his word, he stuck by her side. He made Wishbone and Feedbag sit in the pew behind her. Stretch sat in front, blocking the view of the altar from anyone unfortunate enough to sit behind him.

She wouldn't be a bit surprised to find Cactus Joe in church dressed in one of his disguises. Would she be able to pick him out? She glanced over her shoulder to study the row of faces behind her. In so doing she inadvertently met Luke's eyes. Heart skipping a beat, she quickly averted her eyes. An infant wailed and was immediately carried outside. The owner of the general merchandise store, Mr. Green, sat with his arms crossed, nose on his chest, snoring.

Ruckus patted her on the arm, drawing her gaze from the back of the church to the pulpit. His concern touched her. Before coming to Cactus Patch, she'd never known anyone to worry about her welfare. Not even her mother had done that.

In many ways Ruckus was an enigma. He'd rant at her or any other ranch hand who earned his disfavor, but he was never cruel or unkind. His wife, Sylvia, seemed genuinely fond of him. A pleasant woman with a full-rounded figure and dimpled smile, she held her husband's hand and gazed at him on occasion with loving eyes. Never had Kate known a couple so devoted to each other and who had stayed together so long. Did Sylvia worry about Ruckus taking off? Abandoning her? Tossing her aside like an empty tin can?

Pushing her thoughts away, she concentrated on the sermon.

The ranch. That was all she wanted, needed. She loved working there, loved seeing the cattle thrive. Ruckus suggested she was chasing the wind but he was wrong. She chased after a dream that would one day become reality.

Miss Kate Tenney, owner of the Last Chance Ranch. She liked the sound of that. Liked knowing that no one would ever look down on her again.

She smiled. With this thought firmly in place she managed to ignore Luke for the remainder of the sermon, but it took a whole lot of effort on her part—and maybe a little help from above.

Chapter 27

Since her estrangement from Brandon her misery was consummate, and she struggled against the depths of despair with every bit of obstinacy she possessed.

T
hree days later Kate found an envelope on her desk addressed to her. Inside was an invitation to a summer barn dance. The purpose of the dance was to raise reward money for the capture of Cactus Joe. A handwritten note at the bottom of the card read,
Dear Miss Tenney, We do so hope you can attend
. It was signed
Aunt Bessie
.

Aunt?
No one in Boston would dare sign an invitation to a mere acquaintance with such informality. Kate tossed the invitation aside. It was a worthy cause and Cactus Joe would be so pleased. The town finally took him seriously as an outlaw, though she doubted anyone would compare him to Jesse James.

She had no intention of going to the dance, of course. No doubt Luke would attend and the less she saw of him the better. Still, the dance did stir the muse. She couldn't help it. Since her kidnapping, she had not been able to stop writing. It wasn't that she had a compelling need to resume her writing career. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Rather, in writing Cactus Joe's story, she had inadvertently tapped into her own. Though she had never been able to write about her inner pain, she found she could easily write about his. In writing about Cactus Joe's deserting father, she was able to pour her own anger into each sentence.

“How odd that an absent parent could create both a void and a presence in one's life,” she wrote. “Neither of which was possible to escape.”

Sitting at the typewriter in Cactus Joe's cabin had lit a fire in her and sometimes, like now, it felt like the words in her head would consume her if she didn't put them on paper. She lived for the moment she could sneak away from her chores to jot down a note or two. At the end of each day she escaped to her room to spread her notes across her bed and plan her night's work.

Anxious to get started she opened the door to her room and strained her ears. Miss Walker's muted voice floated up from the bottom of the stairs. Though Kate couldn't make out the words, she knew it was Miss Walker's habit to give last-minute instructions to the staff before retiring.

Heart racing with excitement, Kate closed the door. Soon the household would retire for the night, leaving her free to sit at the desk in Miss Walker's office and type her story on the Remington writing machine.

Her body still ached from long hours on horseback, but her creative mind overcame any physical exhaustion. And it would only be for a short time. Once she had completed Cactus Joe's story and put her own demons to rest, she would hang up her pen for good and concentrate solely on the ranch. For now, however, she enjoyed the process of putting words on paper and gained great satisfaction from watching a scant few pages grow into a hundred or more.

Impatient to get started, she sat at the desk in her own room and dipped her pen into the inkwell.
He gazed at her from across the crowded room and it was as if no one else existed. The fiddlers played a romantic melody and Luke started toward her . .
.

She stared at what she had written. Luke? Where did that come from? She dipped the nib of her pen into the ink and scratched out Luke and wrote Cactus Joe. She then read what she wrote and grimaced. Cactus Joe was not a romantic character by any means.

After jabbing the pen into its holder, she ripped the page from her notebook and scrunched it into a ball. Tossing it across the room, she watched it bounce off the wall before falling to the floor. That's when she noticed that someone had slipped something beneath her door.

She hurried across the room to see what it was. Several pages were clipped together and it appeared to be a story. Clutching the manuscript in her hand, she shot out of her room and ran down the hall to the stairwell just in time to see the front door close below.