Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  “Only a fool wouldn’t be scared of Apaches,” he said drily.

  “You were the one Bulldog was worried about.” She made it a statement. “He called you a stubborn mule.”

  He almost smiled. “He’s an old cluckin’ hen.”

  “I don’t mind his gruffness. I like him. Jack, too.” She laughed, remembering how surprised Bulldog was when he met her at the hotel. “Didn’t he know I was grown up? He thought he was meeting two children.”

  Slater’s eyes never left her face. Her sparkle was infectious. He smiled, showing even white teeth, and she was surprised at the change it made in his grim face.

  “Time doesn’t mean much to Bulldog.” He continued to watch her.

  “I invited Sadie and her little girl to come out and live with us after Bulldog said we were going out to a homestead. I had the idea John Austin and I would be living out on the prairie, miles from anyone else.”

  She stopped talking. With a sense of shock, she realized he was waiting for her to say something more. She straightened her back and said nothing, but her eyes were drawn to his, and he held them, probing them, before moving from her eyes to her hair and down the full length of her body. Her cheeks flamed.

  When she did speak, her voice was calm, firm; it surprised her.

  “We’re going to plant a garden right away. And there’s another thing. . . .” Her voice trailed away only because she didn’t know how to put into words that their cash money was gone and she needed a way to earn more.

  “And . . . what?” he prompted.

  She folded her hands in her lap and bent her head, her lids drooping over suddenly moist eyes, her courage leaving her.

  “I want to discuss the bill at the store.” She hoped, desperately, that he didn’t know how nervous she had become. Looking straight into his eyes, she added, “You needn’t feel you must be responsible for us.”

  “You’re not a charity case, if that’s what you’re thinking. The land was your mother’s. We only used it all these years. Sam’s instructions were clear. He wanted you to come home and have what was yours. He was . . . fond of your mother.”

  Her spirits rose a little. But she wished he had said it was what he wanted, and not what Sam wanted.

  “Sam left you a small amount of cash money. I’ll keep it, if you like, until you need it. In the meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, let me know. Your place is part of the Keep, and we take care of our own.”

  Their eyes met in silent assessment of each other. He knew every question and answer that flitted through her mind; she could see it in his eyes. Summer’s chin began to tilt and she tossed her head back as if to shake the hair from her face. She knew this was her outward sign that inside she was nervous, afraid, uncertain. She wanted to remember another time, but his eyes drew all coherent thinking from her mind, and she asked rather absently:

  “Why did he name the ranch McLean’s Keep?”

  The rare smile surfaced again. “To Scots, the word ‘keep’ means fortress, castle, lands, possessions. Sam McLean loved everything Scottish. He built this Spanish-style house because it suited the land and the materials were available, but everything else on the Keep is Scottish. He worked hard and was frugal as only a Scot can be. This place proves what one determined man can build in a lifetime. I intend to hold it in trust for the next generation of McLeans.”

  Summer carried the cups and plate to the counter to hide her unexpectedly flushed face. He was standing when she turned, and she saw him wince as he put his weight on the injured leg.

  “Shouldn’t you stay off that leg?” She tilted her face up to look at him, and almost automatically he turned the smooth cheek toward her.

  “Yes,” he assented begrudgingly. His eyes glinted briefly when he looked into her wide violet ones. “Don’t tell Bulldog I admitted it.”

  Her eyes searched his face, her hand on the back of the chair steadied her.

  “I came to thank Sam McLean,” she said quietly.

  He grinned down at her. “Consider it done.”

  She smiled back, somehow not wanting to leave, but since he didn’t say anything, she moved to the door. He followed, and they walked through the dining room and into the large room fronting the house. His pace was slow and he held his leg stiffly.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Summer said admiringly.

  “You don’t remember it at all?”

  She looked about the room and shook her head.

  “You don’t remember hiding behind the couch and jumping out at me when I came through the door?”

  That made her look up at him, her eyes wide. She studied his face. It told her nothing except that he was fascinated by her expression.

  “And the swing I made for you?” The smile left his face. “And how afraid you were to cross the footbridge?” It seemed to Summer he watched her with his whole body, not just his eyes, and that all his muscles were coiled, taut, in anticipation of her answer.

  She moistened her dry lips. She felt as if she were in a vacuum, being drawn toward him.

  “You . . . You promised to come . . . and fetch me home.” Her eyes were filling with tears and her lips trembled.

  “That I did, summertime girl.” The words were so softly spoken they barely reached her ears.

  Summer opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stared at him as if stunned, her mind stumbling and forming no logical thoughts. The desire to cling to him burned so strongly in her that she had no will to resist his arms as they closed about her and he hugged her tight. Strange sensations went zig-zag along her nerves, and her fingers fanned out across his back as she hugged him in return. Finally, she tilted her head and looked up into his face.

  “You’re the boy? The one that called me summertime girl—I tried and tried to remember.” Her voice was tremulous with elation.

  He loosened his arms and she stepped back, her face radiant.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “I was about your brother’s age when you were born in that cabin. You belonged here.”

  “Thank you for bringing me back.”

  “Thank you for coming back, summertime girl.”

  Their glances met and measured each other again. Her head whirled and she gave him what she hoped was a smile.

  “I must go,” she said breathlessly. “I better see about John Austin. He’s . . . kind of a handful sometimes.”

  “So Bulldog said.” He was reluctant for her to leave. “Turn him over to Jack. He’s the best I ever saw with kids. Likes them, too. He’ll have your brother eating out of his hand in no time.”

  Summer sobered. “John Austin is one of the reasons I came out here. After you get to know him, you’ll understand. He’s terribly bright, but what worried Mama and worries me is that he doesn’t have what you call . . . horse-sense.” Their eyes clung for a breathless moment, then she dropped her lids and continued. “Mama said Sam McLean would know how to handle him.”

  “And he would have.” His voice was husky. “Now I’ll see to it.”

  Summer’s heart gave a frantic leap and lodged in her throat. She was agonizingly aware that he wanted her to stay, but her thoughts were not functioning the way they should, they seemed to stumble about in awed bewilderment. She turned her back, then halted a pace away. Bootheels rang on the stone floor of the veranda, and Bulldog appeared in the doorway. He looked from one to the other, then tugged his hat from his head.

  “Got company down to the other place.” In spite of his calm manner, indignation showed in his tight lips.

  “Company?” Slater moved out from where he was leaning against the door frame. “Who?”

  “Miz Ellen, that’s who! Miz Ellen ’n her whole tribe!” Bulldog now bristled like an enraged porcupine. “Come a ridin’ in jist as pretty as ya please, that big galoot by ’er side along with that sorry cur she calls ‘son.’ Same bunch what was in town. Now you just tell me what they’s come fer, after all this time of not settin’ a foot on the place?”

  Sla
ter’s eyes had narrowed. “Anyone down there?”

  “Jack.” Bulldog flung a hand out irritably. “We saw the dust and went to look. Then we high-tailed it over to the ‘little place’ to be a waitin’ fer ’em.”

  Summer’s interest grew with every passing second.

  “She didn’t lose any time.” Slater leveled his sharp gaze on Summer and she met his eyes. Sensing that somehow this crisis had to do with her, she felt compelled to ask:

  “Are the visitors at my mother’s place?”

  Slater lowered himself into a chair and sat rigidly erect. He studied her for a moment before he spoke.

  “Ellen McLean and her son have come to call on you.” He bit the words out icily. “Enjoy your guests. They’re not welcome here.” Abruptly, he hoisted himself up from the chair and limped out of the room.

  Summer stood as if he had struck her. She turned wondering eyes to Bulldog, but he slammed his hat down on his head and walked away from her. She went to the door Slater had just passed through.

  “Slater.” He was going down the hall and stopped when she called to him, but didn’t turn around. “Why are you angry? Is it because of Ellen McLean? Why has she come all this way to call on me?”

  He turned around, showing her only the scarred side of his face.

  “She wants you for a daughter-in-law.” He ground out the words in a low, husky voice. “And Ellen usually gets what she wants.”

  Summer turned her head away before he saw the distress in her eyes, and when she looked back he was gone.

  Five

  When Summer reached the footbridge, she was still trying to find an explanation for Slater’s sudden change of mood and boorish behavior. She pushed it back into a corner of her mind and fastened her attention on the figures waiting for her in the shade of the veranda.

  Ellen McLean rose from a chair where she sat fanning her face. She snapped the fan shut and allowed it to dangle from her wrist as she came forward. The men, lounging casually against the rough logs of the house, watched her. One swept off his hat and ran his fingers through thick blond hair as he stepped out into the bright sunlight. The other scarcely moved. There was no sign of Sadie or the children.

  “I hope you won’t think it presumptuous of me to call on you so soon.” Ellen came toward her with hands extended. “You have no idea how excited I’ve been, just knowing you were so near. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to talk woman-talk.” She took Summer’s hands and clasped them warmly; her smooth, lovely face wreathed in smiles. Summer’s reaction to the older woman was spontaneous.

  “I don’t think it presumptuous at all, Mrs. McLean. I’m happy to see you again.”

  “Oh, my dear! You’ve no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.” Her lilting voice deepened with sincerity, then lightened as she glanced at the men behind her. “It was no mean task to persuade those two to bring me,” she said confidentially. “Jesse is champing at the bit to get back to the ranch. He’s my foreman, you know, and I must say there was never a better one, but this scamp is like his mother.” She placed her slim hand on her son’s arm. “If there’s a pretty girl around, he wants to know her.”

  Summer looked up to meet bold blue eyes. She was startled to find them locked on her with a smiling intensity. It was like being caught naked in a public place, the way he looked at her. Her face must have reflected her feeling, for he lowered his lids and his face took on a friendly, boyish expression.

  “My mother will give you the wrong impression, Miss Kuykendall, but I’ll admit it didn’t take much persuading on my part.” A smile flashed rakishly across his handsome face. “It was well worth a half-day’s extra ride.”

  Innocently confused, Summer turned back to Ellen. “Is your ranch far from here?”

  “It’s really close by, as far as distances go in this vast country.” Ellen took her arm and they walked together toward the house. “It must be about fifteen miles as the crow flies, but slightly more than that by the time we wind around and get across those troublesome streams that are either dry or overflowing.”

  Summer found Travis once more scrutinizing her with a thoroughness that made her again feel undressed. His gaze moved unabashedly over her softly rounded breasts and trim waist, then moved leisurely along the full length of her. She struggled to keep the tide of color from her cheeks, and in looking away met Jesse’s steely eyes. He held her gaze for an instant, then raked his thumbnail over the head of a sulfur match and held the flame to the cigarette dangling from his lips.

  Summer’s mind groped like some small, drowning creature. She was at odds as to how best to proceed with her guests.

  “Mrs. McLean . . . ?” she began, in a questioning tone.

  “Ellen. I couldn’t possibly allow Nannie Kuykendall’s daughter to call me anything but Ellen.” The soft friendly voice continued, “If you don’t mind, Summer, I’ll sit here and catch what cool breeze there is and Jesse will fetch me a cool drink.”

  Travis squatted down on his heels and leaned his back against the heavy post supporting the veranda roof. Jesse moved away from the wall and toward the door.

  “Bucket in here?” he asked, the soft timbre of his voice seeming to go with the rest of him.

  “I’ll get it for you.” Summer escaped inside the house and Jesse followed.

  When they entered, Sadie backed from the stove, her large green eyes going from Summer to Jesse. She continued to back away, until her legs struck the edge of the bunk where her daughter was sitting. Her fright calmed Summer’s nerves.

  “This is Mr. Thurston, Sadie.” She placed her arm across Sadie’s shoulders. “My friend, Mrs. Bratcher.” She laughed down at the small face peeking from behind Sadie’s skirt. “And her daughter, Mary.”

  Jesse nodded. He had noticed the girl’s fright the moment he stepped into the room, and now that he had a closer look at her, he understood why. She was the dance-hall girl he had rescued from Travis several weeks ago. He allowed no recognition to show in his face as he mumbled a polite greeting and looked down at the impish little face peeking up at him. His stern face relaxed, and memories of his own childhood came flooding back; every kind word, every pat on the head was to be remembered and cherished. He fished into his pocket, came out with a peppermint stick, and held it out to the child. She hid her face in Sadie’s skirt and refused to look at him. He chuckled, and handed the candy to Sadie.

  “She scares easy,” Sadie murmured as she accepted the offering.

  “It’s natural.” The piercing eyes rested once again on Sadie’s face, and remained so long that it seemed he was counting every freckle on her slightly upturned nose, before going to the shelf for the water bucket.

  Sadie’s eyes followed him out the door. “I’ll get the meal ready, Summer, so don’t you be frettin’ how you’re gonna feed ’em.”

  “That’s a relief. I never dreamed we’d have visitors so soon. Where’s John Austin?”

  “He’s all right. Jack said to tell you not to worry, he’d keep a tight rein on him.”

  “I hope to heaven he does.” Summer’s voice took on the serious, worried tone it always did when she spoke of her brother.

  “You go on out,” Sadie urged. “I’ll call when the meal’s ready.”

  It was later in the afternoon, as she and Ellen were sitting in the shade of the oak tree, that Summer thought about the tall ranch foreman and Travis. They were not openly hostile toward each other, but they were certainly not friendly either. She had not been able to observe them more closely because Ellen kept her occupied with woman-talk. Up to now, the talk had been about dress patterns, new novels and hairstyles.

  “How is Slater?” Ellen asked suddenly.

  “I only met him this morning.”

  The friendly blue eyes searched hers, then saddened as she shook her head.

  “It’s a shame the way that man has withdrawn since Sam was killed.” She paused, and her face turned toward the footbridge and the ranch house beyond. “He blames us
, you know. I could never understand how he could think that Travis or I had anything to do with such a thing.” The sad eyes came back to Summer. “I loved Sam McLean like a brother. After all, he was my husband’s only living kin.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

  Summer reached across and clasped her hand. “I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t know Sam McLean was dead until this morning.”

  Ellen wiped her eyes. “That’s just like Slater, to bring you here without telling you.” Summer didn’t speak, so she continued. “It’s been about five years now. Or maybe four, time goes by so fast. Sam and Slater were camped in the hills, and men rode into the camp shooting. I suppose they thought Sam had money on him. They killed him. Slater was badly injured. One of them rode his horse over him time and again . . . so he said. It’s a wonder he lived. Some of Sam’s men were bringing in fresh horses and heard the shots. They rode in and killed the men on the spot. They said one man got away by riding through a nearby pass, but they found no trace of him. The dead men worked for us at one time, so Slater believes the orders came from us. It’s beyond me how he can think such a thing.” Ellen turned her face away to dab her eyes.

  Summer didn’t know what to say. The woman’s sincere distress made her half-angry at Slater. It was logical for him to be hurt and angry, but why carry on that hate, without proof, for five years?

  “Slater was a strange little boy,” Ellen said fondly. “He was so lonely. His mother was . . . well, there’s no other way to put it, not quite right. It happens sometimes to women out here in this desolate country. They can’t cope with the day-after-day loneliness of never seeing another woman.” She shook her head sadly and patted Summer’s hand. “Men!” she exclaimed. “Men have their work, but women need more than that. We need to talk, need to be loved and told that we are loved. Poor Libby, so fat and unlovable. Who could blame Sam for spending most of his time as far away from her as possible? He adored Slater and Slater adored him, tagged after him everywhere. When you came along, he adopted you as his little sister.” She breathed deeply and let out a trembly sigh. “Sometimes, I think Slater may have inherited some of what affected his mother.”