Waiting for Morning by Margaret Brownley

doing.
    Lightning stretched his front legs, pushed out his head, and struggled upright. The horse looked groggy and uncertain.
    Brodie grabbed the halter rope and tied Lightning to the fence outside the corral.
    “You’re lucky he didn’t break his neck,” she charged, not bothering to hide her anger.
    “Or break the neck of a rider,” Brodie said, his demeanor calm. “Let’s hope he learned his lesson.”
    Lesson? She frowned. “What would have happened had he jumped over the fence without falling?”
    “I would have made him fall,” Brodie said simply. “What he doesn’t learn on his own I’ve got to teach him. That’s my job. A ranch can’t run without well-trained horses.” He tossed a nod toward the open desert. “You never know what you might encounter out there. Could be a rattler. Could be a raging bull, a wolf, or a bandit. A cowboy’s life depends on how his horse reacts to adversity.” He snapped the ground with his whip. “Let’s get to work.”
    Molly spent the rest of the morning learning how to turn a wild horse into a tame one. Brodie was a patient teacher, his movements efficient but never hurried. Now that she understood the reason behind his methods, she realized he was firm but never harsh or cruel.
    “I learned to train horses in Mexico,” he explained as theytook a midmorning break in the shade of the windmill. He dipped a metal cup into the water tank and drank it down in one gulp. Wiping his whiskered chin with the back of his hand, he continued.
    “Mexicans are the best riders. They don’t treat horses like pets. A horse is a cowboy’s partner and it’s all serious.”
    “Would it be okay if I ride one of those?” she asked, pointing to a row of saddled horses tied outside the corral. She was a good rider and anxious to check out the ranch.
    “Not unless you got yourself a hole ready. I ain’t got time to dig no grave.” He laughed at her expression before explaining, “Ain’t none of them ever been ridden. They’re gettin’ used to saddles and learning how to stand quietly. What you see is a bunch of horses learning patience.” He gave her a cockeyed glance. “I reckon that’s a virtue you know nothing about.”
    “I know about patience,” she said. “And what I know, I don’t much like.”
    She stared at the next corral over. A black colt held his head to the ground. Keeping his forelegs in place, he moved his back legs sideways in a circle. He then lifted his head and bounded to the other side. What a strange horse.
    Brodie followed her gaze. “He’s blind,” he said simply.
    Molly frowned. The horse looked so carefree, so vibrant and full of life, it was hard to imagine that anything was wrong with him. “But he looks so . . . happy.”
    “Reckon he don’t know any better. Soon as he weans, we’re gonna have to let him go. He won’t be any good around here.”
    A surge of protectiveness shot through her. “Let him go? You mean set him free? But he won’t survive.”
    Brodie shrugged. “Not my problem. Not yours either. Our jobis to train horses to work. If they can’t do the job, they’re no good to us.”
    Molly continued to watch the young horse. How she envied the little fellow’s exuberance. Or maybe it was his ignorance she envied, for he had yet to learn that physical handicaps were often met with cruelty and disdain.
    Sensing Brodie watching her, she pulled her gaze away from the colt. “How long have you been training horses?”
    “Since I was knee-high to a jackrabbit,” he said.
    “They respect you,” she said. “They watch you like a teacher.”
    “They’re watching me like a prisoner watches a guard. I’m keeping them from freedom. They figured out my weaknesses long before I figured out theirs. They’ve already figured out yours.”
    “What weak—” But already he’d turned his back and walked away.
    The morning passed quickly and a distant bell sounded.
    “Lunch,” Brodie called from a distance.
    She gaped at