Free Dawn Comes Early by Margaret Brownley Page B

handed a small basin to Miss Walker. Her eyes grew wide as she glanced at Kate’s bare bottom. She then turned and hurried from the room as if running away from a contagious disease.
    â€œThis will get the hairy spines out,” Miss Walker explained, pouring something that felt wet and cold on her back and legs.
    â€œWhat horrible plants. What terrible, horrible plants,” Kate wailed.
    â€œIf you think this is bad, wait till you meet up with a jumping cholla,” Miss Walker said. “I swear that thing can jump out and grab you as you pass by.”
    Kate groaned at the thought. Jumping plants? What would be next?
    â€œIn any case, the prickly pear is a useful plant,” Miss Walker continued. Having finished plastering Kate’s back and arms with some sort of paste, she walked to the washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. “The juice has many medicinal qualities and Indians use it to purify water. The fruit is quite good, actually. A few prickly spines seem like a small price to pay for such a useful plant, wouldn’t you say?” She washed and dried her hands.
    For an answer Kate moaned. The glue on her back began to harden and her skin felt taut, but the coolness had relieved some of the itching, or at least made it bearable.
    After several moments, Miss Walker peeled off the glue and tossed the papery strips into the wastebasket. She then proceeded to apply a poultice to Kate’s skin.
    â€œThis is an old family recipe made from dried bread crumbs and sweet oil,” she explained. After she had completed the task, she said, “That should do it. It’ll feel uncomfortable for a day or two, but I think we got them all.”
    Kate grabbed the towel and held it up in front of her. “Thank you,” she murmured. Now that the worst was over, she feared Miss Walker would tell her to pack her bags and leave.
    Instead, Miss Walker gathered up her supplies and started for the door. “Get dressed. There’s work to be done. We’ve got to get ready to start pulling calves.” With that she was gone, leaving only the sound of her footsteps fading away.
    Kate stared at the closed door. That’s it? Get to work? No time off to recover? She frowned. And what an odd term, pulling calves. What could it possibly mean? How does one pull a calf?

Chapter 7

    Brandon scooped a pitchfork of straw and tossed it into the wheelbarrow with one easy move. He had mucked out all thirty-five horse stalls in less than two hours. She greeted him with a smile and fell into his arms. He smelled like the sun and rain all rolled into one . . .
    H orse dung! That’s what she smelled like. It was in her nose and hair and even her mouth. It seeped into her pores like water in a hole, along with the horsey smell of soggy hay and stinky urine.
    Her body still sore from yesterday’s horrid ride, her muscles ached as she swung the last pitchfork of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow. Her skin still felt prickly from the cactus needles. Though the burning had all but disappeared, her embarrassment at having to bend over naked in front of Miss Walker remained.
    The relatively tame horseback rides she’d endured at college were nothing compared to the kind of riding expected on the ranch. Certainly she’d never been on a horse as large or fast as that gelding, Decker. Ruckus said it was old and slow. A racehorse should be that slow!
    She collapsed against the wooden side of the stable. Two days felt like two years.
    As usual, whenever she stopped working Ruckus appeared as if able to see through the walls that divided the stalls. He glanced around and pulled out his pocket watch. “Forty-six minutes,” he announced in his gravelly voice.
    â€œThat’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, although at the moment she was too hot to care. It had been one mishap after another. Why hadn’t Ruckus told her to remove the horse before cleaning the