Dawn Comes Early (37 page)

She hated to admit it even to herself, but she'd been so close—so very close—to believing in him, trusting him. What a fool! What an utter, utter fool. Had she not learned anything in all her years? A handsome man tells her he fancies her and she practically loses her head. What was wrong with her?

Her heart belonged to the ranch. It was what she'd wanted and worked for these last couple of months. It was in her blood and she was convinced it was what she was born to do.

So why the confusion? Why did Luke affect her so?

She grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it across the room. Going to that dance had been a mistake. Any and all future social invitations would be politely but firmly declined. Certainly she would never allow herself to be in Luke's arms again.

The moment she finished Cactus Joe's book, she would hang up her pen, this time for good. Writing his story was like lifting a rock and seeing her childhood with new clarity. His mother's illness made her realize that her own mother had been ill, too, not of the flesh, but of the spirit. It was easier to stay angry at a weak person, but when illness was involved—even one exacerbated by alcohol—feelings became more complicated. She no longer knew how she felt about her mother.

That's why completing Cactus Joe's story was so important to her—she didn't know what she would discover next about her own past. Would it help her understand why her father left? Why her mother drank? Help her come to terms with her parents' flaws, maybe even to the point of forgiveness? Maybe not, but at least it gave her a place to dump her bottled-up feelings.

The ranch required every bit of energy she had and then some. Her painful past had become a distraction and she needed to put it to rest. It was time to wipe the slate clean. Her future depended on it. Perhaps taming the past would even help to resolve her confusion over Luke.

With this thought in mind, she quietly left her room. Creeping downstairs, she felt her way in the dark. She wouldn't write for long, just an hour or so. She couldn't sleep anyway, so what could it hurt? A rush of excitement raced through her as she anticipated the thrill of running her fingers over the Remington typing machine again and writing another chapter.

Having reconstructed the chapters written at Cactus Joe's cabin she would now have to depend on her creative skills to write the rest. That meant digging deeper into her own childhood. Perhaps even uncovering long-buried memories.

Reaching Miss Walker's office, she lit the parlor lamp and turned to the desk.

The typewriter was gone! Shocked, she stood perfectly still for several moments before bursting into tears and running back to her room.

Luke groaned. It wasn't a hangover, but it sure did feel like one. Or at least what he imagined a hangover felt like. His head pounded, his jaw was sore, and one eye was swollen shut. Even Homer couldn't bring him out of his misery, though the poor dog did everything but dance on his hind legs trying to get Luke's attention.

“Woof!”

“You're a dog of few words. Let's keep it that way.”

“Woof, woof!”

“Okay, I get the message,” Luke said at last. Homer could be such a nuisance at times. He rose from his stool and reached for the jar of jerky. He tossed a piece on the floor. Homer barked and wouldn't stop until Luke tossed him another piece. Satisfied at last, the dog picked up both pieces and ran outside, presumably to share the meat with his lady friend.

Alone, Luke surveyed the work stacked up on his workbench. What he needed was a day off. He needed to go back to bed. Maybe this time he'd actually sleep. Then again, maybe not.

For some reason everyone blamed him for the fight. Certainly his aunt did. If spending half the night in jail wasn't bad enough, he'd had to listen to her read him the riot act. Aunt Bessie had apparently gone to the house to fetch something and had missed the start of the fight. She had no idea what started it and he had no intention of saying anything about his uncle's suspicions. Not yet, anyway.

Then there was Kate. He would never forget the look on her face as the marshal dragged him away. Obviously she blamed him. The memory didn't just make his head throb—it felt ready to explode.

A sad-looking group gathered at dawn that Monday for the usual morning prayer. O.T. and Ruckus were the only two men not sporting a black eye or bruised chin.

Ruckus whipped off his hat and held it to his chest. “Dear heavenly Father, send rain.”

The others took off, although with less energy than usual, and Kate fell in step by Ruckus's side. “Rain? Is that all you ever think about?”

She was in a bad mood and didn't care who knew it. She'd had little if any sleep, but that wasn't the only reason for her ill temper. For two days she had tried to talk to Miss Walker about the missing typewriter, but the woman had been impossible to track down.

“What about your men? Don't they deserve a prayer?”

Ruckus stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with surprise. “I did pray for them. I always pray for them.”

“You prayed for rain,” she argued. “Same as always.” Oh, she really was in a foul mood.

Fortunately, Ruckus didn't seem to take offense. “Rain is just another word for blessings,” he said. “It grows, it quenches, and it heals.”

“You talk in riddles,” she snapped.

He laughed at her expression. “Us western folks are easy to understand. You ought to know that by now. We may not always say what we mean but we always mean what we say.”

When she failed to appreciate his humor, he eyed her from beneath a creased forehead. “What's the matter with you today? You look madder than a wet rooster.”

She bit her lip and sighed. She felt guilty for taking out her bad mood on him. “I could use some of God's blessings myself right now.”

“Yeah, and those horses could use some fresh hay. Nothing cures what ails you faster than work. Now get to work.” He gave her a cockeyed look. “So what are you waiting for?”

“A Bible quote,” she said.

“I gave you one. Exodus 5:18. It says
get to work
.”

Kate groaned. She should have known. Ruckus really did have a Bible verse for every occasion.

During the next hour she helped unload two wagons of hay. Although still early, it was already blazing hot and her clothes clung to her body. After the empty wagons left to be reloaded, she walked over to the windmill and drenched herself with water.

Someone rode up on a black-and-white pinto, an Indian. Her heart pounding nervously, she glanced around. Ruckus had disappeared into the barn. Though he was still within earshot, she would have felt a whole lot better had he been visible. Since her kidnapping, strangers made her nervous, even ones she knew couldn't possibly be Cactus Joe in disguise.

The Indian reared his horse in front of her and lifted an arm, palm outward, to show her he meant no harm. He pointed to the water tank and she nodded.

He slid off the bare back of the pinto, and while the horse drank from the trough, he cupped his hands and helped himself to water from the tank.

Never having met an Indian face-to-face, she couldn't help but stare. He seemed normal and nothing like the savages she'd read about in Boston's newspaper. Nor was he like the wild tomahawk-wielding Indians she'd written about in her novels who wore breechcloths and war paint and said “How.”

Dressed in an odd combination of Indian and white man's clothes, he wore moccasins, Levi pants, and a poncho-style shirt. Dark skin stretched over high cheekbones, his black glossy hair arranged in a figure eight bun with a colorful band across his forehead.

He wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand and regarded her with intelligent brown eyes. She guessed he was in his late twenties or early thirties.

“I came to see Miss Walker,” he said. He spoke good English, pronouncing each word precisely.

“Miss Walker is out on the range,” she said. “May I help you?”

“Tell her Sky Runner send gratitude.” Hand on his chest he inclined his head slightly as he spoke.

Sky Runner. Did Indians have barn names too? And how did he come to be called such an intriguing name? “You want to thank her?”

He gave a single nod of his head. “She give family two goats, chickens, and milk cow.” He stuck out his chest as if showing off a medal. “Now we have farm.”

“Miss Walker did that?”

He nodded again and thumped his broad chest with his fist. “You tell her Sky Runner heart big with gratitude.”

“I'll tell her,” Kate promised.

Thanking her, he mounted his horse and rode away so quickly, his horse's hooves barely seemed to touch the ground.

Ruckus walked out of the barn, pitchfork in hand. “We have company?” he called.

“Yes,” she hollered back as she hurried across the yard to join him. “Do you know a man named Sky Runner?”

Ruckus stood his pitchfork against the wall. “Yep. He's part Navajo. Lives north of here. Was that him?”

She nodded. “Did you know that Miss Walker helped him start a farm?”

“'Course I knew it. I helped ready the animals myself.” He studied her. “Don't look so surprised.”

“It just seems like a kind thing to do.”

“The boss lady does a lot of kind things. Not too many people know it. That's how she wants it.”

Kate recalled the steer and other animals carted away her first day at the ranch. Now she knew why José had been so secretive.

“Every year the boss lady picks out a family or two to help. She gave my daughter a heifer for a wedding present. That's so my daughter and her new husband could start their own ranch. It's a Last Chance tradition and goes way back to when Miz Walker's ma received a steer from an Englishman.”

“Miss Walker told me about that. She said her mother saved the man's life.”

“That's what I heard. One heifer and now look what we have.” He gestured with his arm. “Like the Good Book says, cast your bread upon the waters and it'll come galloping back with a whole gang.”

Kate laughed, her earlier bad mood forgotten. “I expect it's a whole lot easier to cast bread than a steer.”

His mouth twisted wryly. “I reckon you'll find out once you take over the ranch.”

Once she took over? Was that a vote of confidence? Sure did sound that way.

She stared out over the land. She could no longer see Sky Runner, but the mirage of a lake shimmered in the distance.

“Nothing is what it seems,” she said. Miss Walker certainly wasn't. Nor, for that matter, was Luke. He seemed honest and kind, but she now knew he also had another side.

“That's the way God planned it,” Ruckus said. “It forces us to give the world—and each other—a closer look-see.”

Chapter 31