Dawn Comes Early (35 page)
She walked off with Luke, and once again Kate was left to keep company with the chaperones.
E
leanor sat on the porch of the ranch house at dusk enjoying the end of another long day. Nighthawks swooped overhead on outspread wings, weaving invisible patterns in the near-dark sky. Bats flitted around a nearby saguaro, drinking sweet nectar from its night-blooming flowers.
Stars winked as if privy to earth's innermost secrets. A full moon cast a silvery light across the desert floor. A horse whinnied from a nearby corral, setting off a chorus of barks from restless cow dogs.
Nearly everyone had gone to the barn dance and Eleanor enjoyed the solitude. She could sit outside to her heart's content without O.T. or Ruckus suggesting she needed a wrap or risked catching her death of cold. In the desert, no less.
The sound of rumbling wheels made her groan. Surely the dance wasn't over this early? A shay drove up to the ranch house and she touched a hand to her forehead. It was Robert. She should have known.
Certain he couldn't see her in the dark, she waited until he'd walked up the verandah steps before revealing herself. “It's not my birthday. Nor is it the first of the month.”
She couldn't make out much more than his form, but she sensed him searching for her in the shadows.
“I came to escort you to the social,” he said, moving toward her. Light from the window angled upon him. His silver hair was neatly combed to the side, his mustache waxed. He wore a three-piece suit and dark bow tie as befitting a banker. The cane tucked beneath his arm was more for appearance than need, and it made him look even more distinguished than usual, more debonair. If she were in mind for a love interestâwhich of course she wasn'tâRobert would fit the bill quite nicely.
“You've known me how many years now? Twenty?” she asked. “And you thought I would consider going to a barn dance?”
“Since the money collected will go toward a reward for capturing Miss Tenney's kidnapper, I thought you might let down your hair just this once.”
“I rather like my hair the way it is, thank you very much. Besides, I sent a check. Money is a very handy implement for avoiding social obligations. You might try it sometime.”
He laughed. “You don't think a banker knows that? For your information, I've already made a generous donation to the cause.”
She rocked back and forth. “In any case, I'm sure Rebecca will do the ranch proud.”
“Rebecca?”
She stilled. “What?”
“You said Rebecca.”
Drat! Knowing Robert, he would read all sorts of things into a simple slip of the tongue. “I meant Miss Tenney, of course.”
He fell silent for a minute. “May I ask you something?”
She let out a sigh. “When have you ever needed my approval?”
His finger followed the line of his mustache. “Are you looking for an heiress or a daughter?”
Eleanor stiffened. “For goodness' sakes, Robert. You know my only interest is the ranch and its future.”
“You referred to Miss Tenney as Rebecca. Your daughter's been dead for a good many years.”
She grimaced. It wasn't in her nature to think of the past, but lately it seemed it was all that she did. Worse, she even questioned some of the choices she had made, though she didn't regret fighting for the ranch. Never that. Even so, thoughts of her daughter had sent her to the attic to scrounge in the dust for the daguerreotypes stored there, along with Rebecca's clothes and toys.
She had long come to terms with the death of her only child, which made constant thoughts of her recently even more puzzling. Perhaps it was because of the sudden and unexpected death of Rebecca's father. Or maybe it was simply that Kate had similar coloring and was almost the same age Rebecca would have been had she lived.
“I'm an old lady,” she said slowly. “Can you not excuse a mental hiccup or two on occasion?”
He laughed. “You old? You can still ride circles around any of your ranch hands.”
She wasn't sure that was true anymore, but it was nice that he still thought so.
“I can also still fire a mean shot,” she said.
At least that part was accurate. Learning to shoot had been a dire necessity during the early years when Apaches still ran rampant and liked nothing better than to raid isolated ranches, hers included.
“Is that a warning?” he asked.
“Only if you continue to harp on the subject of my daughter.”
“Very well. I'll not mention her again.” He paused for a moment. “On one condition.”
“Oh dear. You aren't going to propose marriage again, are you?”
“I have no reason to believe that you've changed your mind about marrying me. But I am going to ask you to dance with me.”
“I'm not leaving the ranch.”
“You don't have to. We can dance right here to the music of the stars.”
“Oh, Robert. You're such a romantic.”
She almost turned his offer down but changed her mind. Something about the night made her feel that life was slipping away. Or maybe she simply took pity on him for driving all the way out here for nothing.
“Oh, what can it hurt?” she said, rising to her feet. “Just don't step on my toes.”
I fancy you.
The words were still running through Kate's head while she crossed to the back of the barn to join Ruckus by the punch bowl.
Ladle in hand, he greeted her with a nod of his head. “Want some punch?”
She shook her head. “I just want to ask you something. People back east express themselves differently than they do here.”
Ruckus dumped a ladleful of punch into a glass. “I reckon so.”
“Here in Arizona, if someone uses the word
fancy
, what exactly does it mean?”
Ruckus arched an eyebrow. “What does it mean?”
She blushed. It did seem like a rather foolish question. “In Boston the word is used as an adjective to describe something ornamental such as a
fancy
dress. It's also an unflattering term for a loose woman. Sometimes it means simply that you like someone. As a friend, perhaps. Or that you want something. You could say that you fancy that hat, for example.”
Ladle frozen in midair, Ruckus stared at her like she'd taken leave of her senses. “Far as I know
fancy
means the same here.”
“That's . . . that's what I thought. I just wanted to make certain.”
Smelling smoke, she glanced around and spotted a smoldering cigar butt next to a bale of hay. A flame shot up like an enormous tongue licking one side of the bundle. Without thinking Kate grabbed the punch bowl and dumped punch on the hay. The splash of liquid extinguished the fire and sent chunks of ice skidding across the floor.
“Oh dear, dear, dear.” Aunt Bessie rushed up to the refreshment table, the train of her dress sweeping back and forth with a whishing sound. She stared at the charred bale.
“I'm sorry I made a mess,” Kate said. Gratified that for once she'd acted quickly and without fear in the face of fire, she set the empty bowl on the table. Even Ruckus looked impressed by her quick action. Strangely enough, after all that she'd gone through these last few weeks, a simple little fire no longer terrified her.
“Nonsense. You saved the day.” Picking up her train before a trickle of liquid reached it, Aunt Bessie gave an anxious glance around the barn, but few guests seemed to have noticed the near disaster. The musicians kept playing and couples continued to dance and Aunt Bessie let out a sigh of relief.
Mrs. White came rushing over. “I'll take care of it,” she said, and immediately set to work mopping up the floor with a rag.
Aunt Bessie thanked her and turned to Kate. “Would you mind walking to the house and helping me fetch more ice?”
“I'd be happy to,” Kate replied, grateful for a reason to escape the festivities. She followed the older woman outside and along a narrow path toward the small adobe house, a full moon lighting their way. She took in a breath of fresh air, hoping to clear her head.
Aunt Bessie stopped halfway between the barn and house to point to a couple a short distance away. “That's the marshal and Miss Watson. I've been nagging him for months to get to know her better and it looks as if he's finally taken my advice.” With a sigh of satisfaction she continued along the path to the back entryway. “I'm so glad you could come tonight,” she said, holding the door for Kate.
“It was very kind of you to go to all this trouble,” Kate said.
“It was no trouble. I just hope the reward helps put Cactus Joe behind bars where he belongs.”
They entered a small but tidy kitchen. A lit parlor lamp on the kitchen table cast a yellow glow over the cabinets and clay-tiled floor.
“Now where does Lula-Belle keep the ice pick? Ah, there it is.” Aunt Bessie reached across the counter for the long pointed spike and metal bowl and opened the top of the wood icebox. Stabbing the frozen block with the pick, she chipped away.
“Would you like me to do that for you?” Kate asked.
“No, that's quite all right. I just wanted the company.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I hope you don't take anything Miss Chase says to heart.”
“Of course not.”
“She's got her sights set on Luke, but she's all wrong for him. She's far too flighty and Luke is more serious-minded. You know what I mean?”
Kate didn't want to talk about Luke but couldn't think of another subject. “I believe so.”
“Marriage is hard enough without marrying the wrong person. He needs someone like you.”
Irked by the woman's interfering ways, Kate bit back her annoyance. Aunt Bessie no doubt meant well. “I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression. I'm committed to the ranch and that leaves no room for . . . marriage.”
“What a pity.” Aunt Bessie gave the ice a hard jab. “Trust me, the ranch will do nothing for your toes.”
“My toes?” Goodness! Had everyone in Cactus Patch read her book? Her cheeks flared and she waved her hand in front of her face to cool herself down. “I know you're just being kind butâ”
“Nonsense. Kindness has nothing to do with it. I'm simply being practical. I've been married for forty years and know a good match when I see it. You and Luke are perfect for each other.”
A chip of ice flew onto Kate's shirtwaist and she brushed it off. “Forty years is a long time. Were you ever concerned that your husband would . . . desert you?”
Aunt Bessie's hand froze in midair and she spun around to face Kate. The ghastly white color of her face made her purple dress look even more garish. “What do you mean by that? Did . . . did you hear something?”
Startled by the woman's reaction Kate quickly explained, “I didn't mean to imply . . . It's just that my father left when I was very young. It's hard for me to trust . . . anyone. A man.”
Aunt Bessie's face softened even as it registered relief. “You poor, poor child. No wonder . . . But if you're thinking that Luke would take off, you couldn't be more wrong. Why, he's as faithful as an old hound. And trustworthy too. He's the only one in town knows how to open every safe, even the one at the bank. That's because those mail-order safes never work right and Luke has had to repair them all. But no one worries about their money because Luke is an honest, upstanding Christian.”