Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) by Margaret Brownley Read Free Book Online Page A

left—all except Kate Tenney, but that was only because Bessie made Luke chase the girl all the way to Boston. Had she not put her foot down and talked some sense into him, her nephew would have let a perfectly good woman slip away.
    “It’s a crying shame that none of you have anything better to do with yourselves than throw away your money,” she said, reaching for a box of her favorite chocolate bonbons. The problem with the men in this town was that they drank and gambled too much.
    “Ah, come on, Bessie. What could it hurt?” Green urged.
    Bessie was tempted, God forgive her. “What if you’re all wrong and no one wins?”
    “Then we’ll donate the money to the church.”
    Bessie hesitated. No one had been right in the past about how long a girl would last at the ranch. Why, even she was convinced Kate wouldn’t survive twenty-four hours and the poor girl lasteda full four months. But if this current “heiress” had a brother in a wheelchair . . . hmm. The church could use the money and . . . She caught herself in the nick of time.
    “Gambling is wrong, no matter what,” she said with a toss of her head. At least someone in this town knew how to resist temptation.
    Trotter chomped down on his stogie and hooked his thumbs around his overall straps. “Are you telling us that you have no opinion?” He looked incredulous.
    “She has an opinion on everything else,” Green said.
    All four men stared at her and Bessie cleared her throat. “Of course I have an opinion. I think the woman will surprise us all and last . . . two months.” Any woman traveling all this way with a brother in a wheelchair had to have some starch in her.
    This brought a round of laughter from the others.
    “I tell you what,” Hargrove said with a magnanimous air. “I’ll put in for Bessie.” He tossed a shiny coin on the counter. “Put her down for two months.”
    Not to be outdone, the others slapped coins onto the counter on Bessie’s behalf.
    Smiling to herself, Bessie continued her shopping. Even if by some miracle she won what was now a healthy pot of dough, no one could accuse her of gambling.

    Molly grabbed the pot of coffee and yawned. She couldn’t help it. She’d hardly slept from worrying about Donny. Several times during the night she’d lit the oil lantern and tiptoed through the quiet house to his room. Only upon hearing his steady breathing could she relax enough to creep back to her own bed.
    Donny wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t sleep. A night cough that started during the fire kept her awake and none of the usual remedies worked. Her throat still felt parched.
    It was more than just lack of sleep that had her yawning. It was getting up at four in the morning and having to be ready to work at five.
    She lifted the lids off the covered metal pans arranged on the buffet in the formal dining room. No one else was around and the long table for twelve looked anything but inviting.
    The flapjacks, scrambled eggs, and bacon smelled good, but who could eat at such an ungodly hour? It was all she could do to force the strong bitter brew down her throat before she headed out the door.
    To make matters worse, outside it was cold as a well-digger’s knees. Her baggy shirt offered little protection from the chill, even with its long sleeves.
    The sun had yet to rise and the sky was dull as tarnished silver. Following the sound of male voices, she turned the corner of the barn and a group of men turned to gape at her. One man gave a low whistle. Another’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of his high-crown hat.
    One cowpoke’s eyes practically bulged out of his weathered face. He scratched his temple, frowned, and cleared his throat. “They call me Ruckus.”
    “Pleased to meet you. My name is Molly Hatfield and I’m Miss—”
    “I know who you are.” He turned to the other men, all still gaping at her. “This here is Miss Walker’s new heiress. Name’s Miss Hatfield. Same rules apply as before.