Dawn Comes Early (16 page)

Miss Walker studied her. “You've lasted for three weeks.” She laid her butter knife across her bread plate. “That's longer than any of the others.”

“Ruckus is a good teacher,” Kate replied. “I've learned a lot from him.”

“I daresay you have a lot more to learn.”

“I can't wait,” Kate said. She was especially eager to learn the business side of ranching, but it would probably be awhile before Miss Walker trusted her with the books.

The ranch owner measured her for a moment. “Tell me about your family. Are your parents still alive?”

Kate's mouth went dry. The question caught her off guard and she immediately marshaled her defenses. Miss Walker didn't strike her as someone to ask questions out of idle curiosity. For this reason Kate gave her answer full consideration. She could easily have concocted a story about her family, but writing fiction was one thing, lying quite another.

“My mother died three years ago,” she said in a clipped voice.

“And your father?”

“He left when I was five.”

Kate expected a word of sympathy—at the least a look of pity—but none came. Instead, Miss Walker shrugged and said, “He probably did you a kindness.”

Kate stared at her, momentarily speechless. The woman was even more coldhearted than she'd thought. Mushy, indeed! Not knowing how to respond, Kate concentrated on her meal.

“I've never tasted such tender meat,” she said after several bites. “Is it your beef?”

“I wouldn't eat any other,” Miss Walker replied. “I don't like the way the other ranchers around here raise cattle. Some of them are too lazy to move their herds around and allow them to overgraze down to the nubs. That means the cattle are taking in more sand than nutrition. You can't get a good steak from a gritty diet.”

“You've been ranching a long time,” Kate said.

“My family came here in the '50s. I remember when Tucson was but a mud village and Tombstone a canvas city.”

“I had no idea cattle ranches had been around that long in the territory.”

“The Spanish established cattle ranches long before white men came, but the Indians pretty much ran them off. My family was on the way to the California gold mines when our wagon wheel broke. That was way back when this was still part of New Mexico Territory.”

“Your whole family was going to California?” Kate had heard that the lure of gold pulled men away, but she thought women and children had stayed home.

“Mother refused to be a California widow. She also didn't trust that my father would come home.”

Kate's hand tightened around her fork. She understood all too well how a woman might distrust a man.

“My father got a job with a Mexican hauling company, but by the time we'd saved enough money to continue our journey, the California gold rush was over—so we stayed.” Between bites Miss Walker continued.

“We started out with a little land and a small adobe hut, and my mother planted vegetables and raised chickens. One day she found an injured Englishman on her property taking a small herd of cattle to California. Mother nursed him back to health. To show his gratitude he gave her one of his steers, which he claimed was sired by a bull belonging to Queen Victoria. He told her to slaughter it to feed her family, but Mother was too smart for that. Instead, she decided to go into the cattle business.”

“With only one cow?”

“Steer,” Miss Walker said. “Ah, but you see it had
royal
blood. Of course every Englishman claims nobility either for himself or his livestock. I guess it's some sort of status symbol like the
Mayflower
. With the number of people claiming ancestors aboard, it's a wonder the ship didn't sink before it left the harbor.”

Kate laughed, and for the first time since entering the dining room felt herself relaxing. If Miss Walker had intended to fire her, surely she would have done so by now.

“By the time my father was killed in an Indian attack, we had a hundred cattle,” Miss Walker continued. “Some we bought from a Mexican rancher. Most were feral steer left over from the Spanish.”

Kate lowered her fork. “Your father was killed by Indians?”

“That was Mother's version. He actually drank himself to death.”

Kate's mouth dropped open, but she quickly smacked her lips together. People in Boston were so much more circumspect than they were out here in the West. Never would such words as
drunk
be heard in polite company.

She searched for something to say to break the sudden silence that made the elongated table seem even longer.

“It's rather remarkable that she would think to start a cattle ranch here in the desert,” she said at last.

“Mother could make pie out of thin air. Come to think of it, I believe she did. But enough about the past. Right now I'm concerned about the present. We'll soon be ready for spring roundup. There's something invigorating about putting my brand on a new generation of cattle.”

“Isn't . . . isn't that painful?”

“Oh, posh. Spoken like a true greenhorn. A cattle's hide is many times thicker than human skin. Trust me, any pain is minimal.”

Kate bit her lip and looked away. It seemed like everything she'd written about cattle and ranch life had been incorrect. Perhaps her last book had been banned for the wrong reason.

She yawned and quickly drew her napkin to her mouth, hoping Miss Walker had not noticed.

“I hope it's not the company,” Miss Walker said in her usual forthright way.

“Oh no! I . . . I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying this.” She smiled. “What better way to celebrate a birth?”

Miss Walker stiffened. “How did you know it was my birthday?” Her brusque voice snapped through the air like a whip. “No one knows that except for my banker.”

“I . . . I didn't know,” Kate stammered. Had she said something wrong? “I was referring to the calf we delivered.”

“I see.” Miss Walker tapped her fingers on the table. “Now that you know, I trust you'll keep the knowledge to yourself.”

“If that's what you wish.” Kate hesitated before holding her glass aloft. Surely Miss Walker wouldn't fire her for showing common courtesy. “Happy birthday.”

Miss Walker failed to lift her glass in return but she did give a curt nod. “Do you have any questions regarding ranching?”

Kate set her glass down and hesitated. Dare she push her luck? “I haven't had a day off since my arrival.”

“You want a day off? Goodness, girl, this is a cattle ranch—not a girls' school. This is our busiest month. No one gets time off except to go to church and even that's hardly possible during calving season.”

“I won't be long. I just need to purchase some toiletries.”

Before Miss Walker could reply, O.T. entered the dining room. He glanced at Kate before turning his attention to Miss Walker. “Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I need to have a word with you. It's most urgent.”

Miss Walker pushed her chair back and stood. “Of course it's urgent. I wouldn't expect you to enter the house wearing spurs unless it
was
urgent.” To Kate she said, “When I come back we'll have dessert.”

With that she ushered O.T. out of the dining room and into her office, closing the door.

Curious, Kate stared at the door and yawned. Whatever the urgent business was, she hoped it didn't take long. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and go to sleep.

The flickering light of the candle only added to her drowsiness. Muffled voices carried into the dining room from behind the closed door of Miss Walker's office, but Kate couldn't make out what was said. She yawned and shook her head in an effort to stay awake. Maybe if she laid her head down for just a moment . . .

He carried her upstairs in his arms and laid her gently on the bed, covering her with a blanket. “Sleep tight, my love,” he whispered. “Sleep tight.
”

Even in her dreamlike state she knew it wasn't Brandon. The man who filled the pages of her books and occupied her dreams now had another man's face.

Chapter 13

E
leanor leaned against her desk, arms crossed. “Are you sure about this?”

O.T. nodded. “That's a big drop from the number of calves branded last year.”

Yes, she had noticed that, no question. Her ranch averaged sixty new calves per hundred cattle. If what O.T. said was true, this year the same number of cattle would produce closer to forty calves and that meant a big drop financially when it came marketing time.

“We had less rain this year than last.” Less rain meant less grass. Though it wasn't just lack of water that was the problem. There was a limit to the number of cattle the land could support, but some ranchers insisted upon overstocking the range. Even the Tombstone Stock Growers had called for a halt in importing more cattle.

“We've still managed to maintain the herd's weight,” O.T. argued. “Drillin' that new well on the south side helped. Besides, the count doesn't match up.”

“So what do you think the problem is?” Eleanor asked.

“I doubt there're any less calves. I think someone already branded them. Our men only counted the unbranded ones.”

Eleanor touched her forehead. “Not again.” Five years ago a quarter of their calves had been rustled from beneath their very noses.

“Sorry, ma'am, but I think the Dunne gang is back.”

Eleanor grimaced. The gang had a unique way of operating, which is why it took so long to nail them. They hair-branded calves with the Last Chance brand to prevent them from being counted. Since the iron burned through the hair and not the hide, the rustlers could afford to wait until the calves were weaned before cutting them out of the herd. By then, the hair had grown out and the unbranded calves were easy to spot. No one had been the wiser—at least not at first.

Now, O.T. made it his business to count pregnant cattle and record the number along with live births. If he said the Dunne gang was back, Eleanor had every reason to believe he was right.

“So how do you wish to handle this?” she asked.

“We need to inform the marshal. We've got some time before the calves are weaned, but the sooner he knows the better. I just hate having to give up one of my hands to ride into town right now.”

“You don't have to. I'll send Miss Tenney instead.” The girl wanted a day off and now she would get it.

“That'll be a help,” O.T. said. “Sorry to bother you during supper, but I thought you'd want to know.” He turned to leave.

“O.T.” Hand on the doorknob, he looked back at her. “Be careful out there,” she said. “Don't try to take the law into your own hands.”

He nodded. “I sure won't, ma'am.”

After he left, Eleanor remained where she was. Calving season always came with a new set of challenges, but cattle rustling was the worst. It had caused more headaches through the years than all that Indian trouble put together.

The Texas Cattlemen's Association had clamped down on cattle rustling in the Lone Star State. Unfortunately, all that did was drive the rustlers out of Texas and into New Mexico and Arizona territories.

Arizona had its own cattle association, of course, but it was neither as strong nor as organized as the one in Texas. She blamed that partly on the marshal. Morris had been in town for three years and crime had gone up, not down. Outlaws like Cactus Joe pretty much had the run of the town. Informing the marshal of this latest threat was the right thing to do, but she had little faith it would do any good.

Recalling with a start that she had left Kate waiting in the dining room, she sighed. The girl had spirit and tenacity, but none of that would do a bit of good if she didn't learn the ranching business.

Twenty-nine. The girl was twenty-nine years old. Not much older than Eleanor's daughter would have been had she lived. Rebecca had been blonde and blue-eyed too. Was that why Eleanor had been more accepting of Kate's lack of horsemanship? Shown her more tolerance than she'd given the others? Because of the resemblance to her long-dead daughter?