Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  Blindly, not daring to open her eyes, Summer moved her lips to his scarred cheek and kissed the puckers and ridges with her open mouth. His hands moved over her breast and down the length of her body, exploring its curves and hollows through the cotton dress. When his fingers unfastened more buttons, more hooks, she began to shiver, but she could no more have moved to resist him than he, at this moment, could have stopped himself.

  His lips moved slowly and lingeringly from her mouth to her earlobe to her eyes and back to bury her mouth with his. He was trembling violently. She felt his mouth on her breast, lips and tongue caressing, nibbling at her nipples. Holding his head to her breast, she groaned, a muted, strangled, incoherent sound. She wanted this! She wanted to lie under his searching hands. None of her imaginings had ever been like this. This was more wonderful, more frightening.

  “I love you and want you, but I don’t want to do this to you. Tell me to stop, sweetheart!” Muttered words tumbled from his lips as he pressed fevered kisses along the soft skin of her throat and the beginning swell of her breast, arching her backward over his arm, while his other hand stroked her buttocks and thighs. There was an eagerness in him to know and touch every part of her, to go inside her, to fuse with her. “Is it what you want? Please . . . please, say it’s what you want!”

  Summer’s eyes were soft with love as she gazed at him. Placing her palms on either side of his face she said soothingly, as if to a child:

  “Yes, my love. It’s what I want. A few words said by a preacher won’t make me any more yours than I am at this moment.”

  His mouth lowered to savor the sweet, heady nectar of her lips, and his tongue searched for entry. His fully-clad body lay half-covering her, his leg thrown over her, his arms clutching her to him. She lay soft and pliant, meeting his kisses with gentle ardor. “I must tell you, sweetheart,” his words came against her cheek, “it ... it may not be what you expect. It may....”

  “. . . hurt. I know. I know.” Her hands moved impatiently, pulling his shirt away and running her fingertips through the crisp hair on his chest and around to his lean, muscular ribs. His sharp intake of breath thrilled her. She felt briefly abandoned when he left her arms to help her slip out of her dress, but almost before she could voice a complaint he was back, bare and warm and covering her.

  Her arms went up to hold him closer, her body straining against his. He covered her face with kisses, releasing his pent-up desire with each touch of his lips. He bent his head and kissed the soft firmness of her breast and his hand moved between her thighs, stroking the soft inner skin, moving upward. She gave a muffled, instinctive cry as his fingers found her wetness and probed gently inside.

  He spoke to her softly and coaxingly, and after a while she forgot who she was, where she was, and opened her legs, letting his fingers have their way. Her excitement mounted, her body writhed and strained upward against his hand, aching for something she couldn’t yet understand. “This is the first of a thousand times for us,” he breathed. “I want you to know the pleasure that I will know. I want you to cherish the memory of our first time.”

  “Yes, yes! Please. . . .” she whispered, and he moved over her, his knees between her thighs, holding them apart. For an instant, she was afraid. Her hands slipped down his back and felt the clenching and unclenching of his muscles. He lifted himself above her and she felt him large, hot and rock-hard, pushing to enter her. He went inside her a little way and stopped. With ragged breath, he waited a full minute; calming her, reassuring her. Suddenly, he thrust, and her body arched in shock. His mouth stopped her startled cry.

  “My precious love,” he soothed her. He stayed inside her without moving, embedded in her, their bodies joined, his hard belly caressing the softness of hers.

  The realization of it washed over her and she wrapped her arms about him, her hands pressing his back, his lean hips, truly wanting to become one with him. Lying there beneath him, with his arms around her, a part of his body inside her, she thought: Nothing can ever be the same again, nothing! From this moment, my life is changed.

  Gently, he moved, slowly, his body rigid, trembling. He raised his head so he could see her face; it was glowing and full of love. His movements quickened. There was no more pain, he could read it in her eyes. With a stifled groan, he covered her mouth with his, and their bodies arched together, her movements meeting his. Tingling waves traveled like quicksilver through her veins. “I love you,” she screamed inside, as her body twisted and he seemed to take her to the edge of the world and they flew out into space locked together.

  Wave after wave of pure physical pleasure washed over them. They were two beings wrapped in the perfect bliss of their union, giving all to each other and in return receiving everything and more. Summer only suspected that theirs was a special love; Slater knew it. He had been a man burning for peace, for contentment. It was here, beneath him, in the body of this small woman. He poured himself into her, groaning, shuddering, reaching for her very soul with his possession and binding his heaving body to hers in total consummation.

  Afterwards, still joined to him, she hardly had strength left to return his kisses. She was weak and lifeless in body, but her spirit soared, and she wanted to tell him how it was with her.

  “It was wonderful! You are . . . wonderful!”

  Relief flowed through him. Tenderly, he pushed the damp hair from her face and his heart swelled. He had never dared to hope, to dream, of finding a woman like this. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, her lips, her breast. He was filled with indescribable joy and contentment. Lifting himself up and out of her, he lay beside her and reached for his shirt. Gently, he wiped the perspiration from her face, drew the soft cloth across and around her breast, down over her flat belly, and between her thighs, cleansing her. It was an act of loving devotion, and Summer recognized it as such.

  He drew back and they stared at each other. She was acutely aware of his naked chest and lean, muscular body, and he was totally conscious of her slender nakedness, but there was no shyness, no embarrassment.

  “I love you,” she sighed in a soft, trembling voice.

  “And I love you,” he said huskily. “Thank you for loving me too.”

  Later, he slipped into his clothing, then helped her dress.

  “If you were in my house, I could love you all night long.” He said it softly, teasingly. And then, seriously, “But I understand your reasons for not wanting to come now.”

  Too tired, almost, to move, she sat still while he felt about on the blanket for her hair ribbon, found it, and slipped it about her neck, leaving her hair hanging free.

  They looked at each other with new eyes. What they’d had before tonight was wonderful . . . now it was glorious. They had merged, blended, come together as man and woman, her softness yielding to his hardness, their wonder turning to rapture. It was enough to sit close to each other, quietly, letting the soft blackness of night curtain them from the world.

  “I feel strange, new,” Summer whispered. “I feel like music.”

  “Kiss me again.”

  Their lips met in the darkness, clung, and she pulled away from him. The moon was lost behind a wandering cloud. Somewhere, a coyote sent his lonely cry to the wide sky, an owl hooted, a squirrel chattered inquiringly, and then there was silence.

  A faint, far-off sound caught Slater’s attention. He listened. There was nothing more. He reached into the side of his moccasins and palmed a small handgun. With an arm about her, he listened a minute longer. In one fluid motion, he got to his feet and pulled her up beside him.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “A deer splashing in the creek,” he said softly. Arm in arm, they left the shadow of the tree and crossed the yard.

  “Travis McLean was here today.” She said it abruptly, hurriedly.

  They reached the veranda and Slater dropped the blanket on the bench. She was confused. She was sure he had heard what she said, but he said nothing.

 
; “Slater.” She looked up into his face. “Did you hear me say Travis was here today?”

  “I heard you.” His voice was bitter and cut into her like a knife. “Why didn’t you tell me before now? What was he doing here?” he demanded. His anger seemed to reach out of the dark and envelop her. Involuntarily, she shrank back. His grip on her arm tightened.

  “He said he was hunting in the hills and his mother asked him, if he was over this way, to invite me to a party.” She looked at him fearfully.

  “Hunting?” She could almost feel the burning, spitting rage that consumed him. “Hunting what? Some poor Indian to take for a slave? To torment?”

  Shook out of her fear by his snarling, accusing words, anger overpowered her.

  “He didn’t say what he was hunting. I only know that he conducted himself like a gentleman, and I offered him a meal. What else could I do?”

  “You don’t know Travis McLean, or sweet, simpering Ellen!”

  Her pride was nipped by the brusque manner in which he dismissed her opinion.

  “I have no reason,” she said calmly, “to believe they are my enemies. Ellen was good enough to call on me. She was my mother’s friend and she wants to be my friend. You’re wrong in thinking they had anything to do with killing your father. Ellen had nothing but good -things to say about you and Sam.”

  “So!” He flung the word into her face like a slap. “You think she was Nannie’s friend? She despised Nannie, despised my mother, despised me, despised anything or anyone that stood between her and my pa. When she finally realized she couldn’t have him, she wanted him dead! With me dead, she would have at least a part of him—his ranch!”

  “You don’t know that, Slater.” Angry frustration ran rampant through her and her argument burst forth in a torrent. “You’re allowing your suspicion to cloud your judgment. If you had proof against them, why didn’t you take it to the law?”

  “The law? You little fool, there’s no law here! The army does what it can, but that amounts to about as much as a pimple on a jaybird’s ass. Do you think it’s luck this ranch isn’t overrun with outlaws renegades, Indians? It’s safe for you because my men keep it that way. I lose one or two good men every year keeping ‘law’ on my land.”

  Sheer desperation made Summer find words, any words, just so she could defend her stand.

  “You still have no proof Ellen wanted you killed so she could have the ranch. She couldn’t know she would get it if you were dead.”

  “Yes, she did. McLean land always goes to blood McLeans, and sorry as he is, Travis is a McLean. Uncle Scott claimed him, though God only knows how he could have sired such a pervert.” He cupped her face between his palms as if he thought to mold and memorize its contours as he studied it through narrowed eyes.

  Summer’s anger was over. Now she wanted to cry, but pride forbade the use of tears to soften him.

  “Slater, please, try to understand.”

  “Understand? You either believe what I tell you or what Ellen tells you. It’s that simple. I love you more than life, Summer, and I was hoping, was beginning to believe, that you loved me in return. The foundation of love is trust, loyalty.”

  “How can you doubt that I love you? Do you think I would have . . . could have? . . .” A note of weariness crept into her voice, tears filled her eyes, and her soft mouth trembled. A brief pause ensued, while they searched each other’s faces. Shyly, hesitantly, she slipped her arms about his neck and, standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss on his stern, unyielding mouth. His breath left him in a sudden gasp, and his arms closed about her in a crushing grip. Slowly, her sobbing lips parted and yielded to his passionate kiss.

  If she expected to see a softening in his face when he released her, she was disappointed. There was an uneasy silence, while he scrutinized her openly. Tears blurred her vision and she drew a ragged breath. She tried to pull out of his encircling arms and hide her face before she humiliated herself further, but he only held her more tightly.

  “There’s no reason for you to cry. You must listen to me,” he said, in a strange, expressionless voice. “Don’t be misled by Travis’s glib tongue and charming manner. He’s like a mad dog with a woman. I know this to be a fact, Summer.” His hold on her forearms tightened. “Women are like so much meat to him. I won’t have him near you. If he so much as touches a hair on your head, I’ll kill him. I’ll gun him down as quick as I would a mad dog. He may think Sadie is fair game, because of what she did in Hamilton, but while she’s on my land, she’s under my protection, too. Am I getting through to you, Summer? Do you understand?”

  “Of course I understand. It’s only . . . he was so nice today. Not only to me and to Sadie, but to the children, too.’

  “If he should come here again, you’re to fire the signal shot.” He gathered her close, pressing her wet face against his shoulder. “You’re not to worry. I’ll sleep in the shed, although I’d rather sleep with you.” He kissed her tenderly. “We better see about getting a bunkhouse built down here, so Sadie won’t be alone after you move over to the other house. Go on in now, and drop the bars across the doors.”

  Inside the house, she dropped the bars and went to the window. The shadow that was Slater led his horse to the back of the house and she went to the rear window to watch. The horse drank from the water trough before Slater stripped the saddle and turned him into the corral. With rifle in hand, he moved around the buildings, pausing every few feet to listen. When he returned to the shed, he stood in front of the door for several minutes before he went inside.

  Summer’s spirit was humbled. She had never before felt so physically and emotionally wrung. To love a man as passionately as she loved Slater, and to see him transformed before her eyes from a warm, loving,gentle man to a cold, unrelenting and violent one was heartily depressing. Her mind moved back to the hourspent in love’s intoxicating completion. Never had she known such glorious fulfillment, such extraordinary satisfaction. Now, lying alone in her bed, bathing in the glow of this marvelous night, she stirred, placing her hand on her stomach just above her sex. His seed. Would she become pregnant? Possibly! She should feel disgracefully wanton; instead, she was delighted in the prospect, already perceiving a small dark boy with straight black hair, a serious face and blue-black eyes.

  Ten

  Summer was disappointed but not surprised the next morning, to discover that Slater had left without stopping by the house.

  Sadie saw her bewilderment and sought to ease whatever disappointment she might be feeling and at the same time satisfy her own curiosity as to why the master of the ranch would choose to sleep in the shed.

  “Jack said they have a few more days of rousting steers out of the brush. Slater works as hard as anyone, Jack says. Guess he’s got his own reasons for stayin’ the night out there, if’n he did,” she added carefully.

  “He did. He was angry about Travis being here.”

  “Angry?”

  “Angry wasn’t the right word. He was furious. We are to fire the gun if he comes back.” She waited until she could control the slight quaver in her voice. “Oh, Sadie, Slater will kill him! Travis is bad with women, he says, and he doesn’t trust him near us. I can’t believe

  Travis would hurt us, but Slater is so sure, he’s going to sleep in the shed until he can build a bunkhouse.”

  “Let him kill him!” Sadie’s face and voice betrayed her desperation.

  “Sadie! Why do you say that? Has he . . . ?”

  “He’s bad, Summer. Rotten! Let Slater kill him. He’s just a piece of . . . nothin’.”

  “You’re afraid of him! What did he say to you out there in the yard? You’re trembling. Is it because of him, or are you getting sick?”

  Sadie fought the conflict raging within her. Travis would surely kill her and Mary if she told Summer of his threats. All night long, she had wrestled with the problem of what to do. Now, if Slater should kill him, her troubles would be over.

  “Why should I be scared of him?
I was just thinkin’ that if’n he’s like that, he should be shot. I guess what’s wrong with me is I miss town!” Spots of color showed vividly on her cheeks as she tilted her head rakishly. “I ain’t never been away from town for a long time, so how’s I to know I’d miss it?” Her pert nose elevated to a saucy angle.

  Staring at her, Summer tasted a draught of disappointment.

  “You want to go back to town?” Her disbelief betrayed itself in a voice trembling with concern. “You said you liked it here.”

  Sadie whirled away, unable to bear the bafflement on Summer’s face.

  “I ain’t said I want to go back to town,” she flung over her shoulder. “I like it here. I was just a wonderin’ how it would be when you and John Austin go over to live with Slater. There wouldn’t be no need for me stayin’.” She laughed scoffingly. “‘Sides, I wouldn’t stay down here by myself if Slater’d let me.t’ A flush burned her cheeks. “I’d have to find me a man, and there ain’t many to choose from here.”

  At twenty, Sadie had evolved something of a philosophy to assist her through difficulties: hide your feelings, smile over a hurt, pretend, pretend . . . pretend. But her heart rebelled: she wanted to scream and stamp her feet and pound her head against the wall, but it would do no good. No good at all.

  There was a long, troubled silence. Summer had turned equally red in the face. She gazed at Sadie, then away.

  “You and Mary are welcome to stay here as long as you want, Sadie. Even when John Austin and I go over to Slater’s.” Summer watched Sadie’s face anxiously, astonished at her change of attitude. Since the day they’d left Hamilton, she had been so cheerful. Now, suddenly . . .

  “Oh, I ain’t goin’ no place, Summer.” Sadie’s voice was light. “I just wanted to know if you was planning on me staying. Course I ain’t if there ain’t enough for me to do to earn our keep.” She laughed nervously. “Speaking about workin’, I’d better get along with makin’ up that soap. We got a heap of ashes saved up, and I found a crock of grease.”