Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  It was a highly emotional moment, everything else in suspension, till Slater reached out a hand and stroked her forearm.

  “Get something for your head. I want you to come with me to the Keep.” It was a softly-spoken request.

  While Summer tied on her sunbonnet, Slater spoke to Sadie.

  “Decide where you want your outdoor cook-spot, Sadie. I’ll send Jack down with a load of rock and an iron grill. lack’s good at rock work. He’ll fix it up high, so you won’t have to be bending all the time.”

  Sadie flushed with pleasure. “That’ll make things real handy.”

  John Austin looked from his sister to Slater. He was clearly puzzled as to why Slater preferred her company to his. When Slater spoke again, it was to him.

  “I’m taking your sister over to the Keep, John. You keep a sharp eye out here and look after Sadie and Mary. If you think there’s a need, you climb up on a chair and get this handgun off the shelf. It’s loaded, so be careful. Point it up and pull the trigger. It kicks like a mule and will probably knock you down, but by the time you get up someone would be on the way over. Remember that? Don’t get it down unless you mean to fire it.

  “I won’t, Slater. And I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.”

  To Summer’s startled eyes, her brother seemed to grow inches.

  “I know you would, John, or I wouldn’t leave you in charge.”

  Out in the yard, Summer started walking toward the creek and the footbridge. Slater took her elbow and turned her toward the corral.

  “We’ll ride over.”

  “Oh, but. . . .”

  He laughed. “Oh, but . . . what?”

  “I can’t ride in this dress.”

  His mouth twitched and humor came into his eyes “We’ll have to get you one of those fancy riding skirts that’s split somehow. I never did like a side-saddle. They just don’t do for this country.”

  Summer looked up at the tall black gelding, her voilet eyes full of apprehension. As if guessing the sensation, Slater stepped close to the horse’s head and the animal nuzzled his hand.

  “Estrella’s gentle, but won’t tolerate a heavy hand or a sawing bit.”

  “Estrella? What does it mean?”

  “Means Star. When I got him, his name was Esteril, which means sterilized, but I thought it rather cruel to keep reminding him of what had been done to him.” He turned her face toward him with a gentle finger under her chin. His dark eyes, as they watched the crimson flood her face, glinted devilishly. Weakened by the pulsing flame traveling from his hands through her, Summer tried to turn her face away, but he held her with tender strength. “The only thing that’s keeping me from kissing you is John. He’s watching from the door.

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “No, but I want to.”

  Before she could retreat, he swept her up and placed her in the saddle sideways, thrust a foot in the stirrup and swung himself up behind her, his arms encircling her as he held the reins. Summer gripped the saddlehorn. The horse’s movement brought her in rhythmic contact with him—there was no way she could escape his closeness, not that she wanted to. She longed to melt back against him, to feel his broad chest against her back, but she held herself erect.

  “I wish 1 hadn’t told you to wear that damn bonnet.” His voice was close to her ear. The horse stopped in the middle of the creek. “Take it off.”

  Her hands were gripping the saddlehorn so tightly, she doubted if she would be able to loosen them. He laughed softly and she thought it the nicest sound she had ever heard.

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you fall.” He untied the strings beneath her chin and lifted the bonnet from her head. “I want to see you, touch you. I’ve thought of nothing else.” His arms drew her back and cradled her against him. Her head fit into the curve of his neck.

  All thought left her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the joy of being held by him. The smooth side of his face was pressed to hers, and she lifted her hand to caress the scarred cheek. It was warm and rough and his whiskers scraped gently against her palm. This was the part of him she loved the most, this part that had given him so much pain.

  He moved his head and his lips searched for hers. There was no haste in his kiss. Slow~ sensuous, languid, he took his time quite deliberately, and every move of his lips increased the deep buried heat in her body. She kissed him back, hungrily, her hand moving back to pull at the crisp hair at the back of his neck. She relaxed in his arms and offered herself to his possessive lips.

  His brown fingers moved to her chin and his thumb gently stroked her lower lip. Their breath mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth once again with his. She was filled with a driving physical need, which drummed through her veins like thunder, turning her body into helpless fluidity. She was conscious only of a need to please him, to satisfy him.

  His hand curved around the back of her head in a sudden movement of possession, pushing her face to the curve of his neck. Against her hot face, the coolness of his skin was thrilling. Breathing fiercely, she kissed him, her mouth tasting the rough saltiness of his skin for the first time. She felt as well as heard the hoarse sound he made in his throat. Reluctantly, he held her away from him, looking at her with eyes that moved over her hungrily, lovingly.

  “We’ll marry soon,” he said thickly. “I’ve been waiting for you . . . forever.”

  The horse moved restlessly, but it was of no concern to either of them. Summer tilted her head and pulled away so she could see his face.

  “I’m all growed up and . . . I’ve come home to you.”

  “Sweetheart. . . .” His voice broke off, shaking. “Sweetheart. . . .” His hand caressed her arm, shoulder, and moved to her breast with trembling gentleness. He looked at her with a consuming tenderness in his dark eyes.

  She gazed back at him, the ache of love in her tremulous mouth.

  “Oh, God, I’ve wanted to hold you, kiss you, for days,” he said thickly. His mouth parted her lips, desperate in search of fulfillment, and she clung to him, bonelessly melting into his hard body. The kiss lasted endlessly, as if they each found it impossible to end it. “Summer,” he groaned against her neck. “Summer.”

  “Slater. . . ” she said, half-laughing. “Someone might come by.”

  He kissed her quick and hard. “Very well, what’s a few more hours? But when night comes . . . my girl. . . . ” he threatened teasingly.

  She ran a finger over his hard mouth. “Are you threatening me, Mr. McLean?” Her eyes sparkled at him through the thick lashes.

  “Warning you, Miss Kuykendall.” His hat was pushed to the back of his head, and his dark eyes were alive with the smile-lines that fanned out from the corners. This relaxed, smiling man in no way resembled the stern-faced man she had met in the kitchen a few short weeks ago.

  Her own shyness gone; she giggled softly and tried to tuck the stray tendrils back into her braid.

  “Put your bonnet on, summertime girl. I don’t want you to get a blister on your nose.”

  The horse, grateful to be leaving the water, scrambled up the bank. Slater, holding Summer between his two arms, grabbed the saddlehorn to keep from sliding off the horse’s rump. Their laughter mingled. They were like excited children; everything was new and wonderful.

  At the ranch house, Summer looked around with interest. The ride and the pause in the creek had brought color to her cheeks. Slater watched her with appreciation. There was a depth to her and a quickness of mind that he liked, and yet she was a woman, with all a woman’s instincts. He felt an indefinable surge of pride.

  “You belong here.” He said it suddenly as he lifted her from the saddle. “This is your home.”

  She studied his confident expression, then looked around her at the sunlit, hard-packed earth, the soft shadows along the walls, the coolness of the place after the heat of the ride from the “little place”. The house was stately with-its verandas, shaded by the oaks that spread their branches some fi
fty feet in each direction.

  Summer nodded her head, too happy to speak.

  His hand came out to enclose hers, a smile of pleasure on his face.

  “Come. You got to see it all.”

  The house stood at one corner of a rectangle of ranch buildings. South and west, no more than forty yards from the house, was the chuckhouse. Built adobe-style, the walls were thick, the windows and doors wide to allow the air to circulate. Beyond it was the long, low, stone bunkhouse, and beyond that an equally long building divided into rooms. These were respectively the saddle and harness rooms, tool house, storerooms and blacksmith shop. Behind this building was a barn filled with hay and three corrals.

  In the space between the long building and the next group of buildings was the most beautiful garden Summer had ever seen. There were two acres or more of carefully-tended plants of every kind. Several rows of fruit trees bordered the back and one side. A small stream of water flowed in deep irrigation furrows beside the rows.

  Watching the expressions flit across her face, Slater couldn’t help laughing.

  “We have a heap of people to feed here. Now you can see why I told you not to bother with a garden.”

  “But. . . .” Her violet eyes narrowed as she frowned, wrinkling her nose. “Why was the plot plowed and ready for planting?”

  “Ol’ Raccoon is the gardener. He’s the man in charge and no one puts a foot in his garden till he says they can. He wanted to try a crop of peanuts and that’s good sandy soil over there.” He laughed at the troubled look that came over her face, and put an arm across her shoulders as they walked on. “It’s all right, sweetheart. He’s so glad you’re here, he just chuckled when I told him he had lost his peanut land.”

  At the far end and to one side of the garden was a brush arbor, and beneath it roughly-made tables on which to spread and sort the foodstuff and prepare it for storage. Near this was a root cellar, the plank door folded back.

  “Does Raccoon do all this work by himself?”

  “No. We have four Mexican families living here. Some of the men are drovers, but some are too old or too young and they and the women help Raccoon. They share the work and share the bounty. But Raccoon is the boss, make no mistake about that.” He laughed, then turned serious. “Some people can’t seem to forget the Alamo, but there’s a heap of good Mexican people in Texas. They love their children, keep their places neat and clean, are loyal to you if you treat them decent. Look at the flowers around the adobes.”

  Summer looked toward the group of houses. Flowers grew in profusion along a rail fence, and clay pots filled with an assortment of bright blooms lined the small verandas. Children were running and playing in the yards and clean clothes lay drying on the bushes. McLean’s Keep was like a small town. As if reading her mind, Slater explained:

  “Pa came here when there was nothing but hills and plains, outlaws and Indians, and he planned very carefully. To this new country-, he brought some of the best of the world he left behind. His life went into making the Keep a self-supporting ranch. We must keep it that way, do all we can to preserve it for the next generation of McLeans,.”

  They walked slowly back up the dusty track toward the house. Summer’s hand was engulfed possessively in Slater’s. The drovers tipped their hats and spoke politely, then grinned and winked at each other when they had passed. Bulldog sat on the veranda in a chair made from a large tree stump and worn smooth by years of use. He was whittling on a stick with a long, slim blade. He eyed them as they approached, his mouth puckered and twisted to the side.

  “Wal,” he said, rubbing his foot over the shavings on the stone floor. “It don’t seem like any work’s gonna get done a’tall, what with you out a strollin’ and lack a bustin’ his tail to put up outdoor cookin’-spots. This whole place could just dry up and go ta seed, ‘n I’d be the only one ta know it.” He got up and walked to the end of the veranda and spit a stream of brown juice onto the dirt, then returned to his chair.

  Summer squirmed uneasily and glanced up at Slater, expecting to see a scowl on his face. His eyes had narrowed to mere slits, but his lips were twitching at the corners in an effort to keep from smiling.

  “And what are you doin’, old man, but sittin’ on your -butt in the shade and cuttin’ up a mess for Teresa to clean up? How come you’re not rousting steers out of the brush?”

  “Why, I can’t do that, boy! Some folks got to stay on this here place ta see that things don’t get out of pocket. Others I know of has got so bedazzled, a late, they don’t know what end’s up.”

  “You just got to hang around and see what’s going on.” Slater drew Summer’s hand up into the crook of his arm and covered it with his. “Just to satisfy your curiosity, old man, and to get you off your hind and back in the saddle where you belong, there’s going to be some changes around here. When my wife comes over to take charge, she might just take the broom to you when you get to flapping your mouth.”

  “Humph!” Bulldog didn’t look up from where the blade was slashing long, thin strips from the wood. “I ‘spect I can whup her hindside same as I whupped yores.”

  Slater looked down at Summer, his eyes twinkling, a mock-frown on his face. He put his arm across her shoulders and urged her forward.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Pay no mind to that old goat. He’s ornery as a brindle steer turned tail-over-teakettle. Don’t plan on winning an argument with him. He just talks to hear his head rattle.”

  Bulldog’s grizzled face broke into a grin when they passed, and he rubbed his chin with the blunt edge of his knife. He cocked his head to listen to the voices coming from the kitchen. The girl and Slater were with Teresa. Whistling a tune through his snuff-stained teeth, he kicked the shavings off the porch with his foot and sauntered off toward the bunkhouse.

  Nine

  The days slipped past. After two months in the hill country, memories of the Piney Woods crossed Summer’s mind only rarely. This was a busy time on the Keep, but Slater came to “walk out” with her almost every evening. Sometimes he was late, as they were driving steers out of the hills and into the river bottoms where the grass was thick and green. Later, after rain, they would be allowed to drift onto the higher plains. They were all hoping for rain, as the work was hot and dusty; they came in off the range with dry throats and dust-caked faces. In this country, rain meant not only water in the water-holes and basins, but also grass on the range.

  Slater toyed with the idea of sending someone to town to bring out a preacher so he and Summer could marry, but the chance one would be found was slim, and the chance he would make the long ride out into the hills slimmer. He decided to wait until the work was finished and they would ride to Hamilton together—if necessary, on to Georgetown.

  It was midmorning and John Austin was reading to Mary. She didn’t understand any of what he was reading, but she liked sitting close to him and watching the pages turn.

  Summer and Sadie were washing clothes and hanging them on the ropeline that stretched from the corner of the house to the big oak tree. They saw a lone rider coming up the creek road. They didn’t pay much attention, at first, thinking it was a McLean rider bringing a message from Slater. Few travelers came this far alone, but when one did happen by, it was the unwritten rule that he immediately became your guest and was entitled to hospitality.

  Sadie recognized the rider before Summer did.

  “It’s Travis McLean! It’s Travis McLean sure as I’m a standing here!” Her voice was almost a wail, and Summer looked at her with surprise, then laughed. Sadie didn’t like being caught looking so untidy. “He’s up to no good. He’s up to no good a riding in here by hisself.” Her voice was softer, almost resigned.

  “You don’t know that, Sadie. Maybe he’s bringing a message from Ellen.”

  “He’s bringin’ trouble, if’n he’s bringin’ anything.” Sadie grumbled and picked up the empty wash tub and dropped it with a bang beside the black iron pot. With a long stick, she punched the clothes dow
n into the boiling water again and again.

  Travis rode into the yard and sat his horse. He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. His light hair glistened in the sun, and Summer noticed he had grown a mustache since she’d seen him last. He was a handsome man, and now he smiled, showing rows of even white teeth. It was a friendly, boyish smile, and Summer couldn’t help but respond to it.

  “You’re just as pretty as I remembered, Miss Summer. It was worth every mile of that hot, dusty ride to see that sweet smile.”

  Summer smiled again at his brashness. There was no doubt in her mind that he was putting his best foot forward.

  “Get down and have a cool drink, Mr. McLean.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He urged his horse over to the rail.

  Summer walked with him to the washstand beside the back door. His gaze made her uncomfortable. She wished Slater would come riding in.

  “What’s keeping you from calling me Travis . . . Summer?”

  It was so unexpected that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Nothing. Nothing . . . at all . . . Travis.”

  “That’s better. Much better.” He looked amused.

  “The water should be cool. It’s a fresh bucket.”

  He smiled and offered her the dipper. She shook her head.

  “My mother asked me to stop by and give you her regards. We’re having a party at the end of the month, and she would be proud if you came. And she’s not the only one that wishes you would honor us with a visit.” The last words were lowered in an intimate whisper.

  “I’ll think about it, but I’m almost sure I won’t be able to come. But tell your mother I’d be pleased to have her visit me again.”

  Summer was at a loss now what to say or do. She knew if she asked him in Slater would be furious, yet good manners demanded she invite him to eat.