Dawn Comes Early (30 page)

“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.”

Murphy shrugged. A compact man with bushy eyebrows, sideburns, and mustache, he hung his thumbs from his suspenders and gave the kind of resigned look husbands were prone to give on such occasions.

“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?”

“I'm just saying that Sam prefers old things to new.” Lula-Belle patted her on the arm. “So you haven't a thing to worry about.”

Bessie only wished it was that simple. “I'm telling you he's up to something, and I intend to find out who she is!”
And then I'll kill her
.

Shocked that she would consider such a thing in church of all places, she rolled her eyes to the cross overhead.
Pious thoughts, pious thoughts
.

“Find out who
who
is?”

“Mercy, Lula-Belle. Who do you think I'm talking about? The
other
woman, of course.” She tapped her chin with the tip of her finger. “We haven't had a social event since Christmas. Maybe it's time we had another one.”

Lula-Belle pulled a lace handkerchief from a mutton-legged sleeve. “You think Sam's interested in another woman and you're going to throw a party?”

“Not a party. A barn dance. And I will invite every woman in town. You'll let me use your barn, won't you?” Lula-Belle's barn was larger than the one she and Sam had, and seldom used. “Knowing Sam, he'll give himself away and I'll know exactly what he's been up to.”

“I don't know, Bess.” Lula-Belle dabbed at her nose with a corner of her handkerchief and shook her head, the feather and flowers on her hat bopping up and down. “I don't have a good feeling about this.”

“Oh, butter corn! You never have a good feeling about anything. Trust me, this is a brilliant plan.”

Upon spotting Miss Tenney walking up the steps of the church with Ruckus and his wife, Bessie nudged her sister and gave her head a slight toss. How pretty Kate Tenney looked in her rust-colored skirt and matching cape. She wore a fashionable flat hat adorned with flowers and ribbons but, thankfully, no ostrich feathers.

“That poor, poor girl. Can you imagine being held captive all that time? Yet here she is in church already.” No whimpering or feeling sorry for herself. If Bessie didn't already know that Miss Tenney was the right woman for Luke, she knew it now.

“Where else would she be? It's Sunday,” Lula-Belle said, tucking her handkerchief into her sleeve.

Bessie rolled her eyes. How could anyone be so utterly thickheaded?
Oh dear, here I go again. Pious thoughts, pious thoughts
.

“Getting back to the barn dance . . .” Something suddenly occurred to her and a smile inched across her face. Nothing was more satisfying than killing two birds with a single well-aimed stone. “I will, of course, invite Miss Tenney.”

Lula-Belle gasped. “You think Sam's interested in Miss Tenney?”

Bessie threw up her hands. Her sister was absolutely hopeless. “Miss Tenney I'm inviting for Luke.”

The organ let out a deep, solemn call to worship and Lula-Belle tugged on her arm. “Come on, we'll be late.”

She shuffled away, but Bessie didn't move. Of all the ridiculous ideas. Sam and Miss Tenney? Why, the woman was young enough to be his daughter. And everyone knew Sam preferred the old to the new.