Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (15 page)

“And what would be a more reasonable number?” one of Mason Hampshire’s associates asked.

Eleanor shot him a cold stare. “Ideally, I’d say sixty-five acres per cattle head. Fifty acres at the very least.”

“Nonsense!” Hampshire thundered, banging his fist on the table.

“How do you expect anyone to make a profit?” someone shouted from the back of the room.

“You’re not trying to make a profit,” Eleanor said coolly, refusing to lose her composure. “You’re trying to get rich while ruining the land for everyone else.”

“That’s ridiculous.” A bald-headed man shot to his feet and pumped his fist in the air. “There’s plenty of grass for everyone.”

“That’s only because we’ve had more rain than usual this past
year,” Eleanor argued. “I lost more than half my cattle in the last drought. Every rancher around here did. We all stand to lose many times that in the next drought if this overgrazing continues.”

Everyone started talking at once. The lawyer pounded his gavel several times before restoring peace. “Let me clearly state the issue here so there’s no misunderstanding what’s at stake,” he said, as if there could be any question. He then proceeded to complicate matters with a barrage of legal terms, turning overgrazing the land into a twenty-minute discourse punctuated with
therefores
and
wherebys.

The moment he paused for breath everyone began talking at once.

“One at a time,” he shouted with a bang of his gavel. “Miss Walker?”

Eleanor waited until she had everyone’s attention before beginning. “I propose that before any decision is made, we form a cattle owners’ association similar to the Cattle Raisers Association in Texas and invite every interested party to join.”

Since organizing, Texan cattlemen had done an outstanding job stopping cattle rustling in the Lone Star state. A similar organization was clearly needed in Arizona Territory.

“If we all work together,” she continued, “I’m certain we can come to some sort of agreement on how to raise cattle, stop cattle rustling,
and
protect the land.”

She sat and glanced at Robert, who inclined his silver head. “I can’t see you joining an association,” he whispered.

She gave a slight shrug and said nothing. Forming an association such as she proposed would take time, perhaps even months, and she counted on that. Maybe by then the eastern investors would turn their sights elsewhere.

“I think a cattle association is a splendid idea,” Barker said. Judging by her opponent’s face, he didn’t share the lawyer’s enthusiasm for her idea. “I suggest we adjourn for lunch and discuss it further this afternoon.”

“I suggest we adjourn permanently,” Hampshire said.

Eleanor was inclined to agree. The meeting was a waste of time, with neither side willing to budge.

Barker glared at him. “Unless you wish to pay for my time, you’ll show up after lunch.”

Hampshire made no reply. Instead he stood and walked out of the room, followed by his men.

“What do you think?” she asked Robert as they left the lawyer’s office.

“I think you’re fighting a losing battle,” he replied.

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of supporting me?”

“You wouldn’t ask my opinion if you didn’t want the truth.”

He was right, of course. She trusted Ruckus and O.T. and even that new man, Brodie, but they were more inclined to tell her what she wanted to hear. “So what do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know that there’s anything you
can
do. You’re waging a war against greed and I’m not sure that’s a war you can win.”

“If I don’t win, the loser will be the land itself. If it’s a war they want, it’s a war they’ll get.”

Robert gave her a sideways glance. “I think you should sell the ranch.”

She shook her head. She’d sooner set fire to the ranch than sell it. “After everything I’ve been through these last forty years, do you honestly think I’d give up the ranch because of a greedy investor? Besides, I have a new girl to consider.” To be honest, she should have let Molly go by now, but something held Eleanor back. Maybe she felt
sorry for her. Or her brother. Good heavens! Could she be growing soft in her old age? Surely not!

“You can’t blame me for trying.” He crooked his elbow and she slipped her arm through his. Together they strolled along Allen toward Fourth Street.

He picked up the conversation. “It’s not just eastern investors you’re battling, it’s changing times. I’m not sure that you’re willing to be swept along with the tide.”

“Some change is good,” she said. “If it wasn’t for the railroad, we’d still be making those long, weary cattle drives to Kansas.”

“I suspect railroads will be the least of it. The new doctor in town is convinced that hooves are in danger of being replaced by rubber tires.”

“Nonsense. No one in his right mind would choose rubber over steak.”

He chuckled. “I was talking about horses,” he said. “Speaking of steak, I could use a good sirloin about now. I have it on the best authority that the Can Can serves only the finest meat.”

Eleanor smiled. She wouldn’t think of eating anywhere that didn’t serve Last Chance beef.

They reached the Can Can on the corner of Fourth. A billboard outside read “Fresh oysters and game in season.” Humph. She would have to talk to the manager about advertising oysters over her beef.

Seemingly unaware of her annoyance, Robert held the door open for her. Eleanor stepped inside. Hampshire and his cronies were seated at a corner table, each nose buried in a bill of fare.

“Would you rather we eat elsewhere?” Robert asked.

“Certainly not,” Eleanor said. “If we’re lucky, my presence will ruin his appetite.”

“It’s your appetite I’m worried about,” Robert said.

“Good, because I’m famished.”

Chapter 14

M
olly wasn’t an expert on horses, but even she knew this particular mustang was special. Its silky hide was pure black, and at fifteen and a half hands he stood
taller than most other mustangs. He ran with lightning speed
around the corral, hooves barely touching the ground, mane flowing, tail high. The steed practically breathed fire.

Brodie had been trying to capture him for months and made no attempt to hide his pride at success. “And I didn’t resort to no creasing,” he said. He had no patience for mustangers who shot horses in the neck. If done right, it would stun them without causing serious injury, but Brodie was still against it, insisting that “creasing should be outlawed.”

Molly agreed. “So how
did
you catch him?”

He glanced at her. “How do you think I caught him? I walked him down. Didn’t let him stop for a second. Most horses can be walked down in several hours, but not this fella. Took me two days and two nights. By then he was so tired he practically begged me to capture him.”

She couldn’t imagine the stallion begging. Nor could she imagine anyone walking that length of time. Brodie was one tough bird.

“Watch his every move,” Brodie said. “Every shift of the eye, twitch of the ear, flip of the tail means something.”

Molly watched, but either the signs were too subtle to be seen at the horse’s current speed or nonexistent. She switched the whip from her right hand to the left.

“Keep him going!” Brodie shouted.

Heart pounding, Molly snapped her whip and it whizzed through the air before hitting the ground. The horse circled past her with pounding hooves, his breath scalding the air.

“That’s the way!”

The horse circled back. Molly readied her whip but it slipped from her gloved hand. She made a grab for it but the horse saw his chance and took it. Instead of making the turn, he plunged straight at her, ears pinned back, teeth bared.

Molly froze, legs rigid, mouth dry.

Brodie threw himself between her and the maddened horse, his whip snapping through the air. The horse reared back, its powerful hooves missing her by inches.

Brodie grabbed hold of the mustang’s lead rope and tied him to the fence.

Shaken, Molly ran her gloved hands down the sides of her split skirt to still her shaking body. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

Brodie whirled around to face her, his face red. “Sorry? What good is that gonna do?” Brodie threw down his whip. “If the boss lady makes you her new heiress, she won’t be needing me.” He stalked away.

She watched him walk away, tears scorching her eyes. She felt terrible. But it wasn’t just the horse, it was everything. Exhaustion dogged her day and night. Every bone in her body ached and her
hands were so sore she could hardly hold her hairbrush, let alone the whip. Even wearing gloves didn’t help.

Caring for her brother and keeping up with the ranch work was harder than she ever imagined.

Swiping away a wayward tear, she marched to the windmill. She tossed her gloves aside and plunged her hands into the depths of the barrel, then splashed cold water on her face.

That’s it. She’d had enough! Tomorrow she would ride into town and try to talk a saloon owner into hiring her. Then she’d quit this impossible job. The decision brought no relief. The thought of spending her nights in smoke-filled saloons with a bunch of inebriated men sickened her.

She leaned against the fence and prayed.
God, help me, hold me, tell me what You want me to do. Send me a sign.

She squeezed her eyes tight. She always felt better when she sang. If only she could remember the words to the hymn Mr. Washington sang in church. Something about a chariot . . .

Sighing, she hummed “Little Brown Jug.” The cheerful little drinking song was mild compared to some songs she knew. Still . . . she opened her eyes to make sure no one could hear her.

“
Ha, ha, ha, you and me, little brown jug, don’t I love thee!”
Normally singing made her feel better but not today. She still had a night cough and her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a mouthful of pebbles. What saloon owner would hire her now?

A poke in the back startled her. Swinging around, she found herself face-to-face with the little blind colt Donny had named Orbit.

“Hello there,” she said, reaching over the fence to stroke his velvety soft nose. He bobbed his head up and down and pawed the ground as if to approve.

No one could tell by looking into his eyes that he was blind. He
looked physically normal, and if it hadn’t been for his odd behavior at times, she would never have guessed he was different in any way.

“You must have heard me singing,” she said.

This little black horse had reached out to her and she felt an immediate kinship with him.

The colt’s mother stood across the way watching. After a while she flipped her tail and whinnied. Orbit swung around, kicked up his back heels, and joyfully bounded toward the anxious mare.

Something Brodie said echoed in her mind.
“Horses can teach us a whole lot more than we can teach them.”

She would never forget her terror when that stallion had raced toward her. Now she knew how it felt to have one’s legs fail. Was that how Donny felt during the fire? Or even on a daily basis?

Regret washed over her. Only that morning she had yelled at him for dawdling. Was that the lesson she was meant to learn from the wild stallion? To be more patient?

And the colt—
Is this the sign I prayed for? What am I to learn from this little blind horse? Please, God, help me understand . . .

On Tuesday afternoon, Caleb drove to the ranch and found Donny in his room, reading.

“Ah, there you are,” he said cheerfully, knocking on the halfopen door. Magic didn’t wait for an invitation. Already the dog had weaseled his way onto Donny’s lap, his pink tongue all over Donny’s face. The drawn curtains at the single window let in little light, but enough to see that Donny enjoyed the attention.

“Not good to read in the dark,” Caleb said. Crossing to the window, he yanked open the curtains and the bright light pushed
the gloom to the walls. He raised the heavy sash to let in fresh air before returning to Donny’s side. He lifted Magic off Donny’s lap and the dog curled up on the floor for a nap, tuckered out, no doubt, from all that face-licking.