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

by Margaret Brownley

  After nonstop training of horses, rounding up cattle, and cleaning stables, things had finally settled down. The boss lady had left the previous day for Tombstone for a meeting about range rights and wouldn’t be back until day after tomorrow.

  Molly always knew when Miss Walker was gone. The cowboys behaved more leisurely, their usual stoic faces giving way to laughter as they joked among themselves. Even the horses seemed more relaxed, grazing peacefully . . . all except the little horse Donny called Orbit. The colt continued his strange habit of stepping sideways with his hind legs, his body circling around his lowered head. She still didn’t know why he did it but she enjoyed watching him.

  Laughing at Orbit’s antics, she lifted her face to the sun, her eyes closed.

  If she was lucky enough to inherit the ranch, this was how she would run it. She’d want the cowboys to call her Molly, not Miss Hatfield, and no one would have to wait for her to leave the ranch to take a day off from all but necessary chores. She shook the thought away. What good was it to dream? If the last couple of weeks were any indication, her chances of becoming Miss Walker’s heiress were nil. Even Brodie said as much. Without the ranch she’d have nowhere to turn, no place to go.

  Her gaze roamed over the land that, in a very short time, she’d come to love. She still couldn’t get over the wide-open spaces. The vivid blue stretched from the yellows and pinks of the early morning sunrise all the way to the reds and oranges of the setting sun.

  She no longer missed Dobson Creek, and that surprised her. She didn’t even miss the amazing variety of songbirds or the wild asters, lupines, and Indian paintbrushes that grew there. The desert flowers were so much more colorful and interesting. The blooms of the oddly shaped saguaros opened only after dark, and the waxy white and yellow flowers filled the night air with sweet fragrance. She especially liked the bright red ocotillo flowers.

  God, this is the only real home we’ve ever known. Please don’t let me mess it up. Whether or not God was listening or even cared, talking to Him was still a habit and brought her a measure of comfort.

  Her prayer fell away with a sigh and she regarded her brother’s sullen expression. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Nothing,” Donny muttered.

  “We could play checkers.” That never failed to cheer him, probably because she always let him win. “Or we could read to each other.”

  “I told you I don’t want to do anything.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. It seemed a pity to waste a whole day doing nothing. Earlier Ruckus had invited her to go to church with him and his wife, but she had declined. That was the last place she wanted to go.

  She turned toward the house but a faint rumble made her stop. Dr. Fairbanks.

  A strange fluttery feeling rushed through her. What was he doing here? He didn’t generally check on Miss Walker’s horse on a Sunday.

  Like a protective mother, her first thought was to take Donny inside away from the doctor’s prying eyes. She would have done exactly that had her brother not brightened and waved his arms to gain the doctor’s attention.

  Stunned by the sudden change in Donny, she swung her gaze to the road. Dr. Fairbanks pulled up in front of the house amid a cloud of smoke. The auto coughed and sputtered before finally falling quiet.

  “Miss Hatfield. Donny,” he called, waving. He jumped to the ground and bounded through the gate and courtyard and up the verandah steps, his dog at his heels. Appearing to be in jovial spirits, he tipped his hat and ruffled Donny’s hair, making her brother grin.

  Molly stooped to pet the fluffy ball greeting her with wagging tail.

  “He’s adorable,” she said and laughed when the little dog tried to lick her face. It wasn’t the kind of dog she’d expect a tall masculine man like the doctor to own. “What’s his name?”

  “Magic,” Dr. Fairbanks said. “And before you say anything, I didn’t name him. In fact, I didn’t even choose him. He chose me.”

  “Come here, boy,” Donny called and Magic sprinted toward his chair.

  Molly straightened. “He chose you?”

  “Actually, I think he chose Bertha. I originally planned to drive all the way to Cactus Patch, so I stopped to purchase gasoline. When I wasn’t looking, Magic somehow managed to climb into the car and curl up in the backseat. I didn’t discover him there until twenty miles later. I turned around and drove all the way back to find his owner.”

  Molly studied the doctor with interest. Not many men would bother driving twenty miles to return a lost dog.

  The doctor continued, “Unfortunately, Magic’s owner had joined the Lord a week prior.”

  “So you decided to keep him.”

  He regarded her with clear, observant eyes. “It was more like he decided to keep me.”

  She glanced at her brother, who held Magic on his lap. “I guess that makes you a kept man.”

  “I’ve been called a lot worse.” The corner of the doctor’s mouth quirked upward. “I hoped I’d find you here. I came to offer you both a ride to church.”

  It was the second invitation to church that day, but coming from the doctor it was even less welcome. Not only was the man a menace, he was unpredictable.

  “You put my brother in danger, not once but twice. What makes you think I would go anywhere with you?”

  Certainly not church. It had been years since she stepped foot in one. Not since her father’s funeral. The elders explained that the presence of a dance hall girl would upset the delicate sensibilities of the town’s “respectable citizens.” For that reason, she was made to stand outside and peer through the open doorway with her brother. After the funeral she never went back.

  “I came to apologize for my reckless behavior and am willing to be forgiven,” the doctor said.

  She might have been more ready to forgive had it not been for the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Your idea of apologizing leaves a lot to be desired,” she said. “And no, I will not go to church with you.” God she might trust; church she did not.

  “I originally intended to invite you both for an afternoon drive.” Caleb flashed a devastating grin, teeth white next to his sun-bronzed skin. “I figured you’d say no to me, ma’am, but I didn’t think you’d say no to the Lord.”

  “So now you presume to know how I think.” She couldn’t make up her mind whether to be annoyed or amused.

  “If I’m wrong, I apologize.” He tilted his head. “If not, your chariot awaits.” He bowed from the waist. “And this charming and admittedly annoying driver is at your service.”

  She tried to maintain a cool demeanor but she had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Your modesty overwhelms me,” she said. Why did she always feel like she was on the verge of losing control in his presence?

  His grin widened. “I’ll have to be more careful in the future. Did you know that modesty ruins more kidneys than whiskey?”

  Donny gazed up at the doctor, his eyes bright with admiration. “And did you know that the moon has caused more insanity than syphilis?”

  Molly’s mouth dropped open. “Donny! We mustn’t talk of such things.”

  Donny didn’t look the least bit chagrined. “It’s true.”

  “I believe it is, but your sister is right. Such talk should be left to doctors, moral reformers, and rumormongers.” Caleb gave Donny’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze and turned his attention to Molly. “About church . . . it’s not every Sunday that the circuit preacher is in town.”

  “Sorry, not interested, but thank you anyway.” She turned toward the house.

  “I am.”

  Her brother’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She stared at him in astonishment. “You never wanted to go to church before.”

  He glanced at the doctor. “I do now.”

  She leaned over the wheelchair and lowered her voice. “Remember what happened last time we went to church?”

  “He’ll protect us,” Donny whispered back.

  She caught her br
eath. Not only did Donny’s faith in the doctor surprise her, but it was woefully misplaced.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Dr. Fairbanks asked.

  She straightened. “Perhaps another time.” She started toward the door again but Donny grabbed her skirt, beseeching her. They stared at each other for a moment before he released her.

  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said.

  She could hardly believe her ears. He was dismissing her? Just like that?

  She met the doctor’s gaze. His serious expression could not hide the warm light of triumph in his eyes. He had her over a barrel and he knew it.

  “Your brother will be perfectly safe with me if you choose not to come.” When she made no reply he added, “You can trust me.”

  Trust this man with Donny? How could she? At the moment she was having trouble trusting herself with him. The man could charm the bark off a tree.

  “I’ll go to church with you,” she said. “I . . . just need to change.” Her divided skirt and man’s shirt would hardly pass muster in polite company, let alone church.

  She dashed inside and up the stairs before realizing she was shaking. Her nerves were due to the prospect of walking into a church after she swore never to set foot in one again, and had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with the kindhearted doctor.

  If only she didn’t feel that she was about to travel down an unfamiliar and maybe even a dangerous path.

  Chapter 12

  The vehicle jiggled, shimmied, and bounced down the bumpy road and it was all Molly could do to hang on or risk being tossed in the air.

  Horseless carriage indeed! A bone-shaking monster was more like it. Why, oh why, had she agreed to ride in this dreadful, awful thing?

  She gripped the side until her knuckles turned white, but nothing could prevent her teeth from rattling. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Engine smoke stung her eyes and her throat closed in protest. The sickly reek of gasoline fumes and burning rubber made her want to gag. Ear-splitting vibrations pounded her head.

  None of it seemed to bother her brother sitting in the backseat holding Magic in his arms. His smile reached from ear to ear.

  Molly was just about to fling herself over the side when, mercifully, they pulled up to the church. Dr. Fairbanks parked behind a row of carriages, drawing curious stares from people standing outside. The engine made a strange choking sound before convulsing to a stop.

  Molly slumped against the seat, fanning herself with her hand. Her stomach churned but whether from motion sickness or anxiety, she couldn’t say. Probably both.

  It was a surprisingly large church given the size of the town. The high adobe steeple looked like hands lifted in prayer. Stainedglass windows circled the building and a tidy cemetery spread out like a board game in back, the gravestones staggered like chessmen.

  The doctor jumped to the ground and hurried around the front of the vehicle to her side. “See? Nothing to worry about. I got you both here safe and sound.”

  The quirk of his mouth told her he was enjoying himself at her expense. He held out his hand to help her from the buggy.

  She took her time before placing her hand in his. “That . . . was the worst ride I’ve . . . ever . . . had,” she huffed.

  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, his breath sending warm and surprisingly pleasant shivers down her spine. “Don’t let Bertha hear you say that. You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  She lowered her foot to the ground and, distracted by his nearness, lost her balance. His large hands nearly circled her narrow waist as he lifted her the rest of the way down, holding her in his arms until she gained her footing.

  Before she had time to recover from the ride—or maybe even his touch—he had already reached for the wheelchair tied to the back.

  Straightening her tilted blue hat that matched her bright blue frock, she swallowed hard in an effort to brace herself for the inevitable stares. Already a crowd gathered around them, but much to her surprise no one seemed to notice either her or Donny. Men, women, children— everyone—all gawked at the motor buggy.

  “I say, old chap, how fast does it go?” asked a man with a British accent and dressed in a pin-striped suit and derby hat.

  “Fifteen miles an hour on good roads,” the doctor replied as he transported Donny from the backseat of the auto to the wheelchair. Molly envied the ease with which he was able to move her brother so quickly and smoothly while she had to struggle, more now than when he was younger.

  A white-haired man discounted the claim with a wave of his hand. “A horse can go that fast.”

  “Indefinitely?” Dr. Fairbanks asked.

  “Of course not,” the man admitted.

  “I can go that speed for as long as the fuel lasts. Ten, twelve hours, it doesn’t matter.” His statement was met with a murmur of amazement.

  A white-haired matron examined Bertha through a tortoiseshell lorgnette. “Unbelievable.”

  A man held a hearing horn to the side of the auto as if he expected it to say something. “Incredible.”

  Dr. Fairbanks pushed Donny’s wheelchair away from the crowd. An older woman, dressed in a plum-colored gown better suited to someone half her age, broke away from a knot of people standing off to the side and hurried to greet them.

  “There you are,” she said to the doctor. She clapped her hands together and her triple chins shook like a stack of books about to topple over. Her felt sugar-bowl hat was surprisingly plain with none of the feathers or froufrou of other women’s hats.

  “I heard you leave the house early and I thought you had a medical emergency.” Her gaze swept Molly up and down, curiosity carved into every buttery line of her pleasant face.

  “Mrs. Adams, I want you to meet Miss Hatfield and her brother, Donny.”

  Mrs. Adams extended a bejeweled hand. “Pleased to meet you.” She nodded at Donny. “You too, young man. But please, everyone calls me Aunt Bessie.”

  “She insists upon being called aunt whether or not you’re related to her,” Dr. Fairbanks explained in an aside.

  Molly shook the woman’s hand. “Please call me Molly.”

  Aunt Bessie was one of the few people who looked Donny in the eye. That alone would have been enough to earn Molly’s approval if the woman’s brightly colored dress hadn’t already done so.

  “Dr. Fairbanks was good enough to give us a ride to church,” Molly said politely.

  “Dr. Fairbanks is what his patients call him. You are obviously a friend and should call him by his given name, Caleb.”

  Molly blushed. “Well, I—”

  “Molly,” Caleb said, obviously approving the use of first names, “is staying at the ranch.”

  “Oh, so you’re the one,” Aunt Bessie exclaimed. “I heard Miss Walker had another heiress. That makes how many now?” She looked to Caleb for an answer but he simply shrugged.

  “Don’t ask me, I’m new in town,” Caleb said.

  “It’s at least eight or nine,” Aunt Bessie said in a chatty tone that suggested she had much to say on the subject. “Most didn’t last but a day or two. Except for Kate Tenney, now betrothed to my nephew. You must meet her. I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.”

  “I’d like that,” Molly said, though she had little time to socialize.

  “She’s a writer, you know,” Aunt Bessie continued, lowering her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “She writes dime novels. You’ll love the one that was banned in Boston.”

  Molly tried to suppress a giggle but couldn’t. She’d never expected to meet anyone quite like the older woman, certainly not in church.

  In a louder voice Aunt Bessie said, “You must come to the wedding. Your brother too. I’ll send you an invitation.”

  Molly had no intention of attending the wedding, but Aunt Bessie was so warm and friendly she couldn’t bring herself to decline, at least not to her face. Better to drop her a polite note later. “Thank you.”

  “Come along or all
the good seats will be taken.” Aunt Bessie slipped an arm through Molly’s and whispered, “You must tell me your secret for such lovely pink cheeks and red lips. Is it beet juice?”

  “Carmine,” Molly whispered back.

  Aunt Bessie blinked. “Really? But it looks so natural.”

  “You have to brush it on with a light hand,” Molly explained. Until recently, only actresses and prostitutes openly wore face paint. Respectable women wishing to obtain “natural beauty” were forced to kiss red crepe paper, pinch cheeks, and use burnt hair pins to darken lashes on the sly.

  But that was gradually changing. Women in the workforce or living in large cities such as Denver shunned the pale skin that had been popular for most of the century. They openly wore rouge and tinted zinc oxide face powder, much to the disapproval of their elders. A woman could even purchase bust cream to enhance her figure.

  “Where can I purchase carmine?” Aunt Bessie asked.

  Molly was surprised by the question. Only young women painted. Surely Aunt Bessie wasn’t serious about doing something that many still considered scandalous. “Montgomery Ward now carries cosmetics,” Molly whispered back.

  Aunt Bessie’s eyes grew round as a child’s on Christmas morn. “I had no idea you could order such things by mail. Whatever will they think of next?”

  They entered the church and Aunt Bessie hurried off to join her husband while Molly followed Caleb.

  “I really like her,” Molly said. If only more church people were as down-to-earth and friendly.

  He grinned. “She does tend to grow on you, doesn’t she?”

  Whispered voices spoken behind gloved hands floated to her in bits and pieces.

  “Who is that?”

  “. . . looks like a harlot.”

  “The nerve . . . in a house of worship no less.”

  If Caleb hadn’t already parked her brother’s wheelchair next to a wall out of the way of traffic, she would have left right then and there. Instead she followed him and took her place at the end of the pew between Caleb and Donny.

  The horseless carriage no longer a diversion, she and Donny were clearly the center of attention. All around them people whispered and stared, just like they did at the church back home.