Free Dawn Comes Early by Margaret Brownley Page A

and pulled out a well-worn Bible. “Do you mind if I do the honors?”
    â€œOh really, Robert. Must we?”
    â€œEveryone deserves a proper burial.”
    She supposed he was right. In any case he didn’t wait for her approval before he began to read the Twenty-Third Psalm. “The L ORD is my shepherd . . .”
    No sooner had he finished the psalm and started on the “Our Father” when the galloping sound of a horse’s hooves and a woman’s high-pitched screams pierced the air.
    â€œHeeee-lp!”
    Eleanor spun around just in time to see Decker race by, his rider holding on with both hands and flopping around like wash on a windy day.
    Irritated by the intrusion, Eleanor threw up her hands. Could the girl not even control an old nag? “For goodness’ sakes, O.T. Do something.”
    But already her foreman had thrown down his shovel and was running toward his own horse. With one smooth move he swung into the saddle. “Gid-up!” he shouted, and horse and rider leaped forward.
    Robert stared after him, his eyes rounded. “Good gracious, who is that woman?”
    Eleanor shook her head. Whatever had made her believe that someone who wrote purple prose could learn ranching? “Her name is Kate Tenney, and I do believe I made a dreadful mistake.”
    Kate and the horse parted company before O.T. could reach her. The horse went north and Kate went south. Landing on top of a prickly pear cactus, she screamed bloody murder.
    Robert groaned, “That poor girl!”
    Eleanor thought of the unpleasant task ahead and sighed. Cactus run-ins were not that unusual, especially for greenies unfamiliar with the desert. Normally, the job of plucking out barbs was left to one of the ranch hands. She could well imagine how her men would love putting their hands on the likes of Kate Tenney. Eleanor would allow nothing of the sort to happen, of course, which meant she had no choice but to take on the tedious task herself.
    â€œRobert, finish your prayer and whatever else you think befitting a funeral while I fetch my medical kit. Just don’t sing. You’ll scare the cattle.”

    The door to Kate’s room flew open without as much as a knock. Miss Walker breezed in all businesslike carrying a small basket.
    Gasping, Kate held a towel in front of her naked body with one hand and wiped away her tears with the other. She pranced from foot to foot but nothing relieved the burning, itching, and agonizing sting. Her entire backside all the way down to her knees felt like it was on fire. A glance in the mirror earlier had revealed red welts as ugly as they were painful.
    Initially, Miss Walker had pulled the longer thorns from her arms and legs. She then ordered Kate to her room to undress. Now the ranch owner lifted a large needle out of her basket and wielded it in the air. “Bend over.”
    Kate stared at the needle but didn’t move.
    â€œOh, for goodness’ sakes, forget your modesty. You can’t remove the thorns by yourself. If I see something I haven’t seen before I’ll throw a boot at it.”
    Face ablaze, Kate turned. As humiliating as it was to stand in front of the ranch owner stark naked, she would do anything to stop the pain. She let the towel drop and leaned over the back of her wooden desk chair.
    Miss Walker immediately got to work. She picked what thorns she could by hand and dug out others with the sewing needle.
    Tears rolled down Kate’s cheeks, and despite her best efforts to hold her tongue she couldn’t help but cry out on occasion, “Ouch!”
    â€œDo keep still,” Miss Walker ordered, her voice lacking any sort of sympathy or compassion.
    â€œIt hurts.”
    â€œOf course it hurts. They don’t call it the devil’s tongue for nothing.” Miss Walker lifted her voice. “Rosita! What’s taking so long?”
    The bedroom door flung open, and Rosita scurried across the room and