Dawn Comes Early by Margaret Brownley Read Free Book Online Page A

than a good mucking. I’ll also ask Ruckus to find a horse for you. You do ride, of course?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œExcellent. What about work clothes?”
    Kate glanced down at her skirt. These were her work clothes. “I’m afraid these are all I have.”
    â€œHmm.” Miss Walker tapped her chin with her finger. “You’re about my size. Not quite as tall but I think I have some garments that will fit. I’ll have Rosita bring them to your room.”
    Miss Walker rubbed her hands together. She had large calloused hands the color of leather. It was hard to know how old she was. She had a timeless quality that seemed to make age irrelevant. Her lively eyes, more blue now than gray, watched from a well-lined and well-tanned face, but her body was as supple as that of a young girl.
    As if to guess her thoughts, Eleanor said, “I’m sixty-five years old. That’s young for a saguaro, which can live for 150 years, but as far as I know no ranch owner could last that long. Nor would anyone want to.”
    Her actual age surprised Kate. In Boston, people—especially women—tended to look old in their forties.
    â€œYou do understand that if I decide to make you my heiress you will be required to sign a document stating that you will forever remain single.”
    â€œYes, you explained that quite thoroughly in your letter.”
    Miss Walker regarded her with narrowed eyes. “You’re young and attractive. Why would you agree to forego marriage? Do you not wish to raise a family?”
    â€œIt’s a bit late for that, I’m afraid. I’m twenty-nine.” Far past the marrying age deemed proper by Boston society.
    The older woman rolled her eyes. “Ancient,” she said, her voice edged with irony.
    Kate folded her hands on her lap and debated how much or how little to say. She sensed the ranch owner would see right through the vague answers she had prepared.
    â€œBack in the States an educated woman is thought to be a liability in the home.” Some critics had even gone so far as to say that educated women were not “real” women, and therefore incapable of loving a man, let alone bearing his children.
    â€œYou won’t find things any different outside the States, I’m afraid,” Miss Walker said. “Some men around here don’t know what to do with a woman who has an intelligent thought of her own. And that includes you, Ralph,” she added, addressing the dead man.
    â€œBut that’s the least of it,” the ranch owner continued. “You will work hard, harder than you’ve ever worked in your life. 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.”
    Kate flushed. Never had she heard anyone refer to land as a lover. In Boston most men were happy with a mere couple of acres, just enough to raise a milk cow or two and cultivate a vegetable garden.
    â€œI’m not afraid of hard work,” she said, hiding her soft hands in the folds of her skirt. She often put in twelve or more hours a day working on her stories. True, it wasn’t physical labor, but writing a book was hard work and, at times, even grueling.
    â€œIf that does indeed turn out to be true, you’ll be greatly rewarded for your efforts. Nothing in this world is permanent except for land. It will always be there for you. The question is, will you always be here for the ranch? If things go wrong—as they always do—will you walk away? Abandon ship, so to speak?”
    â€œI’m fully prepared to prove myself worthy of your trust and generosity,” Kate said. She would do anything—crawl to the ends of the world if necessary—for stability and permanence in her life. “I’ll work hard and learn everything I can about ranching. I’ll .