Dawn Comes Early Read Online Free PDF

meet your new friend, Adam,” he said, introducing her to the windmill.
    She tilted her head back to look up. “I didn’t know windmills had names.”
    â€œThere’re more than fifty windmills on this here property and they all have names. If one gets into trouble you just yell out its name and everyone knows where to go. This here was the first windmill on the ranch.”
    â€œIs Adam named after your family?” she asked.
    He laughed. “Nope, the first man in the Bible gets that honor. We had nothin’ to do with it.”
    â€œIt’s huge.” At least twenty feet wide, it was much larger than any windmill in Boston.
    He nodded. “It has to be. It’s pullin’ water from hundreds of feet down. We don’t get much rain so we have to depend on wind for water.”
    â€œI always liked Longfellow’s ‘Windmill.’ I can’t remember the words exactly, but he wrote that the windmill faced the wind as bravely as a man meets his foe.”
    â€œNever heard of a Longfellow windmill. Most of the ones around here were made by the Wolcott Union Windmill Company.”
    â€œOh, but Longfellow’s not a . . . a very well-known company.”
    â€œProbably why I never heard of it.”
    â€œYes . . . well.” She raised her voice. “I’m pleased to meet you, Adam.”
    In response, the spinning sails turned toward the wind with a creaking sound. Homer, wanting to play, barked and wagged his fluffy tail.
    â€œCome on, we’re almost at the ranch house,” Mr. Adams said.
    She stopped to run her hand along his horse’s slick neck. It was a reddish horse with white markings. “What’s his name?” she asked.
    â€œBacon.”
    She smiled. “I wrote an essay on Bacon in college.”
    â€œSeems like a strange subject to write about,” he said.
    â€œA strange . . . oh.” She blushed. “I was referring to Sir Francis Bacon, the English philosopher.”
    His mouth quirked but only briefly. “Named him Bacon because that’s what he looks like.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Do you easterners name animals after philosophers?”
    â€œNot always,” she said, and because she wanted to return to their earlier rapport added, “Neither do we name our animals after breakfast fare.”
    His serious expression disappeared, but the smile she hoped for failed to materialize. “Come on, we better get you to the ranch house.”
    He walked by her without another word and climbed into the driver’s seat. Had she offended him or had she only imagined his sudden curt manner? She watched him warily as she took her seat by his side.
    Not that his abrupt change of mood surprised her. Men were unpredictable. It was part of their nature. One moment they could seem all friendly and kind, and the next . . . She shuddered and pushed the thought away but remained circumspect. If she’d learned nothing else in her twenty-nine years, it was never to let down her guard where men were concerned.
    From early childhood people had drifted out of her life, never to return. Her father walked out on her and Mama when she was only five, but others had deserted her as well, including her grandfather, who had disapproved of her mother’s fondness for alcohol and men. For that reason Kate had conditioned herself not to get too close to anyone, so she’d never had many friends.
    Protecting herself had come with a price, of course, requiring her to trade hurt for loneliness, but it was the best she could do. Between the harsh desert land and the uncertainties that lay ahead she welcomed the blacksmith’s acquaintance, however tenuous.
    After passing a horse corral, large barn, bunkhouse, and various outbuildings, Mr. Adams pulled up in front of a two-story U-shaped adobe ranch house with a low-hip tile roof. The covered porch was supported by wooden columns and ran the length of the