Free Dawn Comes Early by Margaret Brownley

teacher—what was her name—Marcy something, who fainted at the mere sight of a scorpion. Then the Irish girl who broke out in hives the moment she got near a horse. Of course none were as bad as the woman she found rolling in the hay with one of the cowpunchers.
    Still, something about this latest candidate intrigued her. Kate Tenney let down her guard for only a moment, but Eleanor saw a little bit of herself in the flashing blue eyes and combative stance. The woman had secrets, no doubt, but she also had backbone.
    A cloud of dust signaled a visitor and her thoughts scattered like frightened cattle. Who would travel way out here at this ungodly hour of the morning?
    The horseman drew near and she folded her arms across her chest. She should have known. It was Wells Fargo banker Robert Stackman. On her more amicable days she considered him a friend and confidant. This was not one of those days.
    He dismounted and staked his horse to a metal spike. A tall man in his early sixties, his sharp, analytical mind was hidden behind a calm, unhurried exterior. If his impeccable dark trousers, white shirt, vest, and bow tie didn’t instill confidence in his banking clients, his mild, confident manner certainly did. He pulled off his black felt hat, revealing a full head of silver hair as neatly trimmed as his mustache and goatee.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Robert?” she asked, pretending not to know. “Is it the first of the month already?” Forced to take out a loan to rebuild following the earthquake, she’d gone from being relatively debt-free to owing a great deal of money, all on the whim of nature.
    â€œI thought you might like company.” He nodded toward the casket. “It’s not every day that one buries a husband.”
    â€œEx,” she said. “And I wouldn’t have to bury him had he not been so inconsiderate as to die on my property.” Even in death the man caused her trouble. “How did you know?”
    â€œDoc Masterson came into the bank yesterday.”
    Her lips puckered with annoyance. Apparently the death of an ex-spouse did not rate doctor/patient confidentiality.
    He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you and your ex weren’t on speaking terms.”
    â€œWe weren’t,” she said. She hadn’t seen Ralph since the divorce some twenty years earlier. To say that she was shocked when he showed up on her doorstep would be an understatement. She hardly recognized him. He was once the most handsome man in all of Arizona Territory, but time had not been kind to him. He’d worn his years like a soldier wore his battle wounds. He’d looked old, bent over—a mere shadow of his former dashing self.
    â€œHe came to apologize.” Arizona Territory followed the Mexican “Community of Acquests and Gains” law, dividing property equally between husband and wife. Following their divorce, he’d made her buy his half at twice the amount it was worth. It was the second time she’d been forced to purchase her own property. The first time was when the United States acquired the land from Mexico and refused to acknowledge the original deed. It took her years to repay the first loan but even longer to repay the second because of the ’70s depression.
    Her ex-husband’s apology when it finally did come was too little, too late, and she ordered him off her property. Only he never got any farther than the bottom of her verandah steps before he dropped down, dead.
    â€œDid you forgive him?” Robert asked.
    â€œMy word!” she exclaimed, hands on her chest. “What would ever make you think such a thing?”
    â€œI figure something must have caused his heart to stop,” he replied.
    She gave her head a righteous nod. “Rest assured I’m completely blameless for his death.”
    â€œWhat a pity. It would have done you good to practice a little forgiveness.” He reached into his saddlebags