Dawn Comes Early (39 page)

His eyes widened. “Did you say banned?”

Lula-Belle gave a righteous nod. “Yes, banned. For being morally decadent.” She gestured toward her sister. “Tell him, Bessie.”

Bessie threw up her hands. “Mercy, what difference does it make? The poor girl was probably only trying to support herself. She's not writing them now. As for being morally decadent—that's a bunch of hogwash.” She leveled her gaze at Luke. “If someone doesn't do something, she'll throw her life away on a ranch. Is that what you want?”

“It's her choice,” Luke muttered. Suddenly aware he still held the serving spoon, he jammed it back into the potatoes and passed the bowl to Uncle Murphy.

He couldn't get over the fact that Kate wrote dime novels. He never would have guessed it. Not with all that talk about Greek philosophers.

Of course he'd never read one of them himself, but others, including his aunt, called the books trash. And wasn't Bill Sawyer's boy Davey recently expelled from school for reading one?

“So what do you think, Luke?” Aunt Bessie asked.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Luke looked up. “I'm sorry . . .”

“I said, do you think Miss Tenney should waste her life on a ranch?”

Sam rolled his eyes and adjusted the arm still in a sling. “Drat, Bessie. Why do you keep harping on this? What the girl does is nobody's business. Pass the butter.”

Lula-Belle wrinkled her nose and tugged on her shawl. “Of course it's our business. Any lady friend of Luke's is our business.”

Sam took the butter dish from Lula-Belle with his one good arm. “Miss Tenney is your
lady
friend?”

Luke felt heat rise up his neck. “Not the way Aunt Lula-Belle means,” Luke stammered. Since both aunts and uncles were staring at him, he added, “She's a college-educated woman and I'm . . . I'm just a smithy.”

“Nonsense,” Uncle Sam said. “There's no such thing as
just
a smithy.”

“And no woman is really educated until she marries,” Aunt Bessie added.

“Now, Bessie, don't push the boy,” Uncle Sam said.

“Somebody's got to,” Aunt Bessie said. “Just because she uses big words is no reason not to follow your heart.”

Uncle Murphy, who usually didn't speak while eating, made a guttural sound. “Big words are a waste of everybody's time. It takes longer to say 'em and longer to hear 'em.”

“I agree,” Aunt Lula-Belle said. “Just because you can talk like Webster's dictionary doesn't mean you should.”

Aunt Bessie poured gravy over her roast beef but she looked at Luke. “Fortunately for us, God gave love a language of its own and it's a language known by every heart.”

She slammed the gravy bowl on the table, splashing the tablecloth with brown spots, and much to Luke's relief, the conversation turned to Utah's recent statehood. Arizona was one of only two territories on the continental US—excluding Indian Territory—that was not a state, and it was a sore point with his uncles.

“They say we have to become Americanized before we can become a state. What in tarnation is that supposed to mean?” Uncle Murphy grumbled.

“For one thing it means we can't use silver as our legal currency,” Sam explained. “The US insists we use gold and I don't see that happenin'.”

For the most part Luke ignored the discussion. The shock of learning that Kate wrote dime novels had worn off, only to be replaced by perhaps an even more surprising thought. If she did, indeed, write what were commonly called potboilers, she might even be broad-minded enough to give a lowly smithy like himself a chance. If only he could figure out how to break down the barriers between them.

He could see her in his head as clearly as if she were in the same room with him. Without realizing it he had memorized her every feature, memorized the way her lashes curled, the pretty shape of her full mouth that tasted as good as it looked, memorized even the way her nose turned slightly upward.

He only wished he could forget the horrified look in her eyes following the fight at the dance. The closed expression when he last tried to talk to her.

He was a simple man. He didn't really understand how women thought or how that man and woman stuff was supposed to work. But there was one thing he did know; he sure had made a mess out of things, and if he didn't think of something fast, he would lose Kate for good.

Kate awoke with a nervous knot in her stomach. It was hard to believe that four months had passed so quickly.

It was still dark overhead when she stepped onto the balcony, but dawn had broken and a thin silver line marked the eastern horizon.

Today was the day she would officially become the heiress to the Last Chance Ranch. A thrill of excitement shot through her. Of course she still had much to learn, but one day this would all be hers. Now when she gazed across the desert, she no longer saw barren land. She saw ruggedness, endurance, vastness. Everything from the smallest insect to the largest plant knew to protect itself from the harsh land, and for that reason, she saw herself.

She had a long way to go, but she was determined to secure her future as a respectable cattlewoman. Never again would she be looked upon with pity.

“You and the land must become one. Its pulse will be your pulse, its heart yours. It will require everything you have to give—and then some. No man alive can compete with such a demanding lover
.”

She smiled. At last she understood the power of those words. To think she'd almost thrown it away on Luke Adams. “Trust me,” he'd said, but it wasn't him she didn't trust as much as her own traitorous heart. She couldn't deny her attraction to him, and like a foolish schoolgirl she'd been tempted to give in to her feelings. But like the mighty saguaro, she stood firm even while bending. And once she signed the spinster pact, she would never again be tempted by a man, not even one as handsome as Luke. She counted on it.

Luke looked up from his workbench as his brother walked into the shop, then did a double take. He dropped his hammer onto the workbench and turned, arms folded across his middle.

It was Michael, all right, though he never would have guessed it from appearances. Michael's normal scraggly beard was gone and his hair was neatly combed. And was that a shine on his well-worn boots?

Yep, it was Michael all right. Though if it hadn't been for the ever-present pencil sticking out of his shirt pocket, Luke would have sworn it was a stranger.

“You look mighty spiffy today,” Luke said. He scratched the back of his head, not sure what to make of his brother. “I heard Miss Walker hired someone to help out with windmill maintenance.”

Michael nodded. “Yep, but Miss Walker won't let anyone shoe her horses but me.”

Luke nodded. “I don't blame her.” He'd taught Michael well in that regard.

“Miss Tenney said if I worked hard at the ranch and minded my p's and q's, she would help me with my writing.”

Luke let his arms drop to his sides. “Yes, I know. She told me.”

“
She
likes my writing and thinks I have talent.”

Luke felt a twist of guilt. He couldn't remember a time that Michael didn't carry a notebook with him. He was always scribbling away, even as a kid. And if he wasn't writing, his head was in a book.

Luke had once sneaked a peek at something Michael had written—a poem. With only a rudimentary reading ability, Luke couldn't make hide or tail out of what it said. If Kate thought his little brother had talent, who was he to argue with her? Sooner or later Michael would figure out the futility of trying to earn a living from writing. Maybe then he'd have a more favorable regard for blacksmithing.

“So what brings you to town?” Luke asked. “Aren't you supposed to be working?”

“O.T. gave me the morning off.” Michael laid a book on the workbench. “For you.”

Surprised that his brother would give him a book, Luke glanced at the thick tome. “
Webster's International Dictionary of the English Language
?”

Michael shrugged. “You said you wanted to improve your vocabulary.” He stuck his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a pendant on a gold chain. “Would you have time to repair this? The clasp is broken.”

Luke took the pendant from Michael's outstretched hand and examined it. “This was Ma's.” It was a platinum lace pendant that held a single white pearl.

Michael nodded. “I want to give it to Miss Tenney.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. Ma had died in childbirth, so naturally Michael had no memory of her. Still, Michael's plan to give away something of Ma's surprised him.

“Why?” Surely Luke wasn't thinking of courting Kate. He stared at his brother in alarm, the thought crushing him like a boulder.

“It's a big day for her. Today she becomes the official heiress to the Last Chance Ranch.”

“Already?” Had it really been four months since Kate came to town?

“That's right. She's gonna sign the papers this afternoon. I heard the boss lady is going to make her sign some sort of pact not to get married.”

Luke took a quick breath. This was the first he'd heard of such a thing. He shook his head in disbelief. He knew Miss Walker well enough to know she'd insist upon the signing of a legal agreement before turning her property over to Kate. But a contract not to get married? What sense did that make?

“Me and the boys planned a get-together for her and I thought it would be nice to give her a little something. You know, to show how much I appreciate her help with my writing and . . .”

Michael said more, but Luke had traveled back in time to the memory of Kate's sweet lips.

“God gave love a language of its own and it's a language known by every heart
.” That was easy for Aunt Bessie to say, but when he poured out his heart to Kate and told her he fancied her, it didn't do him the least bit of good.

“So what do you say? Can you fix it?”

Luke blinked. “What?”

Michael gave him an odd look. “The necklace. Can you fix it?”

Luke stared down at the chain in his hand. “I have to fix it,” he said. He didn't know how or even if he could, but he had to find a way. Or die trying.

Chapter 33