Calder Brand - Janet Dailey Page 0,71

it and scrubbed it for tomorrow. The lye soap cracked and roughened her hands. Some cream or lotion would help that problem, but such luxuries cost money—money that she was going to need for more important things.

In the kitchen, she took a pot of lentil and onion soup off the back burner of the stove, made sure it was still warm, and poured some into a bowl. She knew that she needed to eat, but the brown color and earthy smell did nothing for her appetite. Setting the bowl on the table, she sank onto a chair, forcing herself to swallow every spoonful. She felt exhausted and longed for a day of rest. But the dirty laundry just kept coming.

This time wouldn’t last forever, she reminded herself. Weeks from now, if she kept saving her money, she would be on her way to a brand-new life.

By now, she’d read the pages from the medical school so many times that she knew the text by heart. The first page was her notice of acceptance. The second page was a list of things she should expect—and things that would be expected of her.

The medical course consisted of two sixteen-week semesters—thirty-two weeks of lectures and exams in all, involving no hands-on experience, but she already had that. Less than a year from now, she would be a licensed physician.

On her part, she was expected to attend all lectures, pay her fees in a timely manner, remain unmarried, and indulge in no immoral conduct that could tarnish her reputation or that of the school.

Only the question of payment worried her. She would need to get night or weekend work—hopefully some kind of nursing position—so she could attend classes on weekdays. Aside from that . . .

The soup seemed to turn rancid in her stomach. She doubled over as the first wave of nausea struck her. Toppling her chair in her haste, she plunged toward the back door and stumbled down the porch steps. She made it just in time to retch up everything she’d eaten.

Wiping her mouth on her damp sleeve, she sank onto the steps and buried her face in her hands. She had to face it—the reality she’d been denying for weeks, even when her menses hadn’t come.

She was never going to be a doctor.

She was not going to marry Everett or any other man.

She was all alone.

And she was going to be a mother.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JOE HADN’T KNOWN FOR SURE WHEN, OR EVEN WHETHER, HOLLISTER would contact him again. The man had seemed interested, both in his horse-training skills and in sharing their common enmity toward Benteen Calder. But as the weeks passed with no word, Joe had dismissed the idea of an alliance.

The real reason Hollister had stayed away, he suspected, was to keep his daughter from getting too friendly with a rootless cowboy. Joe was fine with that. Amelia was a stunner, but she was out of his class. And staying on her father’s good side was more important than romancing a pretty girl.

Now it was autumn. The grass that carpeted the plains and foothills had faded to the pale hue of ripened wheat. In the high meadows and on the slopes of the distant mountains, tapestry patterns of bright gold aspen and splashes of fiery maple contrasted with the dark, velvety green of pines. The peaks were already dusted with snow. Migrating birds crossed the sky. Buck deer, bull elk, and mountain rams battled for the right to pass their bloodlines on to the next generation.

On the ranches, it was fall roundup—a time to gather the cattle and bring them to winter pasture. For a small operation like Blaise Ransom’s, with all hands helping, including Blaise’s two sons, the roundup was over in a few days. The barn was finished just in time and stocked with hay. Montana winters could be deadly, but the hope was, as always, that this one would be mild enough for the cows to survive.

The six mustangs trained by Joe had sold for a good profit, in which Joe had shared. Blaise was already talking about getting more wild horses in the spring, but Joe could feel the itch to move on. The Ransoms were fine people. They’d treated him well. But aside from the money he’d saved, Joe was no closer to getting his own land than when he’d arrived. Things weren’t moving fast enough to suit him.

Lying in his bunk at night, his thoughts often drifted to Sarah—her beauty, her tenderness, and