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

by Margaret Brownley

  That was news to Caleb. He was at the ranch yesterday working with Donny and no one mentioned a word to him about dead cattle.

  “Yeah,” someone yelled. “And we don’t want to catch it.” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. “So we’re ready to be evaporated.”

  The crowd murmured agreement.

  “I think you mean vaccinated,” Caleb said, shaking his head. The very same people who refused to be vaccinated for small pox or malaria now demanded to be vaccinated for a disease that, as far as he knew, didn’t physically exist.

  “You can’t catch a disease from steer unless you eat the meat.”

  “You catch chicken pox from chickens,” someone argued.

  “Not true,” Caleb said, but everyone started talking at once again and drowned him out. Some people still didn’t believe that germs caused infection, nor understood that viruses and bacteria led to disease. Almost every new discovery in the medical field was met with skepticism and resistance, even among some doctors and scientists.

  “Quiet!” He waited until he had their attention. “I’ll check this out and if there is any danger to you and your families, I will let you know.”

  He stepped into his office amid a chorus of protests and after Magic skittered inside, slammed the door shut.

  Molly stood as far away from the mare as the horse stall allowed and didn’t move. This was the first Brodie had allowed her to work with horses since the day she froze in front of the stallion. Her job was to get the horse used to being around people, nothing more.

  The paint stared at her for maybe two or three minutes before turning her head away with a swish of her tail. Molly took another step closer and the horse regarded her again. Her ears flickered and she pawed the ground.

  Training a wild horse required infinite patience, and that had never been Molly’s strong suit. Whenever she showed impatience as a child, her father would always say, “All in God’s time, child, all in God’s time.” It was his stock answer for everything.

  “When will we live in a real house?” she’d asked him, weary of the tent they called home.

  “All in God’s time.”

  “When will Mama get well?”

  “All in God’s time.”

  God’s time wasn’t her time and after her mother’s death, she wondered if such a thing even existed. It irritated her that her father accepted no responsibility for what happened or didn’t happen. Instead of saving his hard-earned money for a house, he spent it foolishly at saloons and gambling halls, leaving them precious little to live on.

  She tried to learn patience—prayed almost daily to accept her lot in life without complaint. But her annoyance grew along with exhaustion.

  When Donny dawdled over the wash sink or took forever to brush his teeth, it was hard not to snap at him. Her body ached so much that she was sorely tempted at times to leave him in his wheelchair rather than battle him into bed.

  Caleb insisted Donny had made progress, but in what way? He required constant care and still couldn’t do anything much for himself. If anything, he seemed more helpless with each passing day . . . or perhaps she simply expected more of him.

  She shook her thoughts away but the guilt remained, shrouding her like a second skin. She could walk and Donny could not. She could run and dance and jump and hop, but Donny could not. She squeezed her eyes tight. Nothing she wanted, nothing she wished for, was more important than caring for Donny and making certain he always had a home.

  Sighing, she took another step closer to the mare. Predictably, the animal lifted its head and gazed at her.

  “Talk to her,” Brodie had instructed. “Let her get used to your voice.”

  And so she sang, her voice barely more than a whisper. Stopping to clear her throat, she dug in her pocket for a lemon drop and popped it in her mouth. After a couple of minutes she tried again. This time her voice sounded smoother.

  She sang just as she did each morning for Orbit. “Ha, ha, ha, you and me, little brown horse, don’t I love thee!” Lately she’d started changing some of the words to the saloon songs to make them less bawdy, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought to do so before.

  She sang softly at first so as not to strain her voice or startle the mare. She ventured a dance step or two. The horse continued to graze on hay, paying her no mind. Encouraged, she took a couple of side steps, sashayed her hips, kicked up her leg, and turned. “Ha, ha, ha, you and me . . .”

  Caleb walked toward the stables looking for Molly. Surely she could explain the rumors in town. Donny knew nothing about dead cattle or gold fever.

  Caleb hated to admit it but the stables drew him like a magnet, and every chance he got, he went there. He enjoyed making Molly happy. It didn’t take much. The least bit of encouragement he offered on her brother’s progress made her eyes sparkle and brought a beautiful wide smile to her face.

  He’d exaggerated Donny’s progress, God forgive him, but he couldn’t help it. Molly looked so forlorn at times, so downhearted and worried. How could he possibly tell her the truth? How could he let her know that Donny’s progress was slow if not altogether nonexistent?

  He heard the voice before he saw the singer but knew immediately that it belonged to Molly. Her voice sounded smoky but no less sweet. He’d never heard the song sung with so much passion and enthusiasm.

  “Ha, ha, ha . . .”

  Grinning, he walked with quiet steps until he spotted her inside the stall. Not only was she singing but dancing and his grin widened. Hands on her waist, she moved with easy grace, shaking her shoulders and swaying her hips. Her red shirtwaist was as bright as the flower of an ocotillo. Wisps of hair had worked loose from her braided bun. “The Little Brown Jug” never sounded so good—or looked so tempting.

  She finished her song and he clapped. She spun around, her green eyes as dark as the disapproval on her face. He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but she came charging at him like a raging bull.

  She let herself out of the horse stall and swung around to face him. “Don’t ever do that again while I’m training a horse.”

  “That’s what you were doing? Training a horse?” They sure did do things different out here in Arizona Territory. “I think the horse can manage the steps but I’m not sure about the shoulder movements.”

  She stared at him for a full moment before bursting into laughter. “Everyone has trouble with the shoulder movements,” she said.

  He grinned back at her. “I knew you were a singer, but I didn’t know you were also a dancer.”

  She arched a fine eyebrow. “How did you know I was a singer?”

  He shrugged. “Small town.”

  Her face softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Teaching that paint to get used to my voice is part of her training.”

  “Lucky horse,” he said.

  Her pretty pink cheeks grew a shade darker. Aware that he stared, he said, “I heard that you had some trouble out here.”

  She looked confused. “Trouble?”

  “With the cattle. Something about thousands dying of . . . gold fever.” He tilted his head. “I thought that particular affliction was unique to us humans.”

  She laughed. “Thousands, eh? So our plan worked.”

  “Plan?”

  She studied him. “Swear you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Anything you say to me will be treated in the strictest of confidence.”

  “Even though I’m not your patient?” she asked.

  “Your brother is.”

  She seemed satisfied with his answer and quickly explained about the ranch’s dispute with eastern investors. “Miss Walker is against a big cattle company moving in. The ones already here keep cutting our fences and using our water. She thinks that’s why Baxter got sick.”

  “She could be right.” None of the other ranchers had complained about sick horses, but that wasn’t too surprising. Illness could ruin a ranch’s reputation and hurt cattle sales. For that reason,
ranchers often didn’t speak up until a problem got out of hand. Miss Walker was the exception.

  “When we found fifty steers killed by lightning, we decided to spread the rumor that they died from disease. We hoped it would stop the other ranchers from trespassing.”

  “Did your plan work?” he asked.

  “It has so far. We haven’t found a cut fence in a week.” She angled her head as she looked up at him. “How did you hear about it?”

  “From a long line of people waiting in front of my office demanding a vaccination against gold fever.”

  Her eyes sparkled like an emerald sea. “Wait till Miss Walker hears about that.” She glanced toward the ranch house. “How is Donny doing?”

  “He’s making progress.” He inhaled. There he went again, but he couldn’t seem to help it. If only he could change the way her brother regarded himself. Instead of focusing on what he could do or was capable of doing, Donny saw only his disabilities.

  Instead of the smile he hoped for, a flash of impatience flitted across her face.

  “You say that every time,” she said.

  “Have you noticed no improvement?”

  She thought for a moment. “Not really. Except maybe his breathing. He’s not wheezing as much.”

  “Ah, you see? Progress. Once we complete therapy, his breathing will improve even more. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Are you saying that strengthening his muscles will improve his asthma?” she asked.

  On more familiar ground, he elaborated. “We don’t know what causes asthma but we have a pretty good idea what triggers it. I’ve noticed in some of my patients that anxiety or worry or even stress can cause breathing difficulties.”

  “Is that why coming to Arizona seemed to affect his breathing?”

  “Possibly. A new environment uncertainty about the future . . . any of those things can cause his bronchial tubes to tense.”

  She bit her lower lip. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or impatient. It’s just that . . . others have promised miracles and nothing worked.”

  Her words stabbed at his conscience. Was that what he was doing? Promising something he could not deliver? “I’m not in the business of miracles. I leave such wonders to God. But I am a big believer in the human spirit. Your brother’s a fine lad with a good mind. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  He nodded toward the horse stall. “What do you see when you look at that horse?”

  “What do I see? I see a fine animal with a strong spirit. I see a great deal of potential. But what has this got to do with my brother?”

  “Do you know what I see when I look at that horse? I see an animal with spindly legs and complicated intestines that should have been extinct thousands of years ago.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “That’s . . . ridiculous.”

  “Not any more ridiculous than looking at Donny and seeing only his imperfect legs.”

  “You’re wrong,” she snapped. “That’s not all I see.”

  He reached for her hands. “Molly, look at me. People act how they’re expected to act.”

  She pulled away. “I don’t expect him to act helpless!”

  “He’s not helpless, Molly. He’s scared.”

  “Scared?” She grew still. “Of what?”

  “Of losing you.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it?” He studied her. He’d committed to helping Donny, but perhaps Molly had a greater need. Caring for Donny under the best of circumstances would be difficult enough for anyone, but she had a full-time job. On a ranch, no less. Though she tried her best to hide her worry and fatigue, he could see what it was doing to her. Such a heavy burden would tax the hardiest of men.

  “What would happen if you lived a normal life?” He trod on dangerous ground and already he felt her resistance. Whenever he got too personal, she either pulled away or put a wall between them. Even so, someone had to step in before she destroyed herself.

  And then he took the biggest chance of all. “If you were to, say . . . marry?”

  If the question surprised her, she gave no indication. “That’s not going to happen,” she said without hesitation, as if she had thought long and hard on the subject.

  He stared at her, incredulous. “How can you be so certain?” A beautiful woman like you?

  “Marriage means children and I couldn’t handle another child.”

  He frowned. “Donny’s not a child.”

  “You know what I mean. Even my mother—” She looked away, but not before he saw the pain in her eyes, the tremor of her lips, the clenching of her fists.

  A protective surge rushed through him. He wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and make the pain go away. “What about your mother?” he asked gently.

  It took her a moment to lift her gaze to his, the pain no longer visible. But he had seen and he knew.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I just meant that Donny needs a lot of care.”

  Sometimes unspoken words were the loudest, and he heard Molly’s loud and clear. Her mother was so overwhelmed with caring for her son she neglected her daughter.

  “And you plan to throw your life away because of him?” As a doctor he tried never to sound critical or disapproving, but today professional discipline failed him and both had crept into his voice.

  Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “I’m not throwing my life away. This is the first real home Donny and I ever had.” At the sound of galloping hooves outside, Molly lowered her voice. “If I can secure Donny’s future at this ranch, he’ll never have to go into one of those horrid asylums.”

  Miss Walker marched into the barn in full riding gear, spurs jangling. “There you are, Doctor. Did Miss Hatfield tell you that we think we know how Baxter got infected?”

  Caleb pulled his gaze away from Molly and turned to the ranch owner. “Yes, she did.”

  “How much longer must I keep him quarantined?”

  “I think we can safely say there’s no danger of him infecting your other horses.” The diagnosis had been proven correct and abscesses had formed as predicted. They popped on their own and almost immediately the horse showed improvement. For safety’s sake, he’d insisted they keep Baxter isolated for a couple of weeks.

  “I’ll take one last look at him if you like,” he said.

  “Come along, then.” Miss Walker strode toward Baxter’s stall with long hurried strides, but Caleb was hesitant to follow.

  He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Molly, I know you care for your brother but—”

  “You better not keep Miss Walker waiting.” She let herself back into the stall and closed the gate between them. She stared at him for a moment before turning away.

  There was so much more he wanted to say to her if only she would let him. “Molly . . .”

  Miss Walker called to him. “Well? Are you coming?”

  Long after Caleb left and the sound of his auto had faded away, Molly stood inside the stall thinking about what he said. As if sensing a change in her, the paint stared at her with wary regard and refused to let her get too close.

  Molly tried to sing but it was no use. Her heart wasn’t in it.

  “What would happen if you lived a normal life? If you were, say . . . to marry?”

  Stop it! she screamed silently, but it was no use. Caleb’s words kept bouncing around in her head, seeming to resonate from the very barn walls until she feared she was losing her mind.

  She clenched her fists. How dare him! How dare Caleb make her want things she had no business wanting. This might not be a normal life but it was her life—and it was the only one she deserved.

  Chapter 18

  Molly couldn’t stop coughing. The cough that started during the Dobson Creek fire had grown progressively worse. At first she only coughed at night, but the hot, dry monsoon winds that tore across the desert set her to coughing for
most of the day. A dark haze of sand and dust filled the air and she made Donny sit inside all day—something he hated to do.

  Her throat was sore and her chest hurt and she worried about Donny catching her cough.

  It wasn’t the initial illness she worried about as much as the asthma attack that inevitably followed even the slightest infection.

  The cough was annoying for another reason. If the clanking windmill and banging barn door didn’t distract the horses enough, Molly’s hacking spells put them on edge.

  Brodie didn’t say anything about her cough, but he made no effort to hide his displeasure at her being late. He disapproved of the number of times she sneaked away to care for her brother and he made no bones about it. Today was no different.

  “Now that you’re back maybe we can git some work done.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late but Donny—”

  “The only thing I’m interested in is these here horses,” he retorted. He tugged on his rawhide hat, kicked a small rock with his scuffed boot, and ambled away.

  She heaved a sigh and followed him into the corral. How could a man with infinite patience for horses have so little tolerance for people?

  Whirlwinds of sand raced by and a new horse Brodie called Blackie kicked up his hind legs and bolted around the corral in a frenzy. It was all Brodie could do to contain him. Keeping one eye on the battle between horse and man, Molly worked with a more placid, though head-shy, mare named Starburst.

  It was a day for distractions. When the wind finally died down and the horses grew calm, Caleb arrived to work with Donny. His motor buggy backfired, sending the horses into another panic. Orbit didn’t help matters. Hearing Caleb’s auto, Orbit hoofed the fence and whinnied loudly until his friend Magic joined him. Nuzzling each other, the dog and horse then took off running side by side.

  Molly laughed at the two animal friends, bringing a sharp glance from Brodie.

  Sighing, she gently slid a bridle over Starburst’s face and waited for the mare to lower her head before slipping the bit in her mouth and buckling the straps. Starburst took the bit well for the first time, but when Molly coughed, the startled mare took off running with her nose up in the air.