This Loving Land (14 page)

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.

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.”

They carried bucket after bucket of water to pour over the ashes that had been scooped into a wooden trough. The potash water dripped into a bucket through small holes in the ash trough, and when Sadie pronounced it ready, she poured it over the grease that Summer had been rendering in the iron kettle over an open fire.

When the soap mixture boiled to pudding thickness, they strained it into a large flat pan and added salt to harden it. The soap had a strong lye smell, but when used in the wash pot, the clothes would come out clean, and after being rinsed and dried in the sun, they would be sweet-smelling.

They worked silently, each wrapped in her own thoughts. The only sound that broke their silence was Sadie’s scolding of Mary. She wanted the child to stay in the house. Summer was puzzled, at first, but decided Sadie was fearful of her being near the boiling pot. Mary cried and fussed. Finally, in desperation, Sadie wrapped a spoonful of sugar in a cloth, tied it securely, and gave it to the child to suck on.

“I shouldn’t do it,” she grumbled. “I shouldn’t let her think she’ll get a sugar-tit every time she throws a spell.”

They had finished the soap-making and were cleaning up, when John Austin called out that someone was coming. Both girls looked toward the creek and the trail to the Keep, and seeing no one, swung around to face the trail leading north to Hamilton: that also was empty. To the south were the hills, covered with thick brush and trees. The two riders had come from that direction and were rounding the end of the corral and almost in the yard before they were seen.

A man with a black beard, wearing a flat-crowned, Mexican-type hat, was leading a brown and white pinto pony that carried an Indian with long, straight black hair, a red band wrapped around his forehead, his hands bound behind his back and a rope about his neck. He was slumped forward, his chin resting on his chest.

Summer watched them approach, her mind numb. Sadie moved to stand in the doorway leading to the kitchen, but Summer stood rooted to the spot and steeled herself to meet the strangers.

The man rode his horse up to within a few feet of her.

“Howdy. Hot, ain’t it?” He took off his hat and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes moved restlessly over the corrals, the shed, swept the entire area before coming back and boldly eyeing her. He grinned, showing stubs of teeth through his black beard. “I’d be obliged for a cool drink.”

Summer nodded toward the bucket. “Help yourself.”

He wrapped the pony’s lead rope and the rope looped about the Indian’s neck to his saddlehorn and eased himself out of the saddle. He glanced at Sadie, then his eyes came back to Summer. Water ran down his beard and onto his shirt as he drank, and Summer made a mental note to scrub out the dipper before it was used again.

“Mr. McLean here?” The man moved back toward his horse. His eyes roved the yard and outbuildings again.

Summer shook her head. “No.” Somehow she knew he was referring to Travis.

“Suppose ta meet up with him back that a ways. Thought he could of come here, seein’ as ta what’s here.” He grinned, and his eyes switched from one girl to the other.

The look angered Summer.

“That man needs water, too.” She indicated the sagging Indian. The edge of her voice sharpened even more. “You’re not leaving without giving him water?”

He spat between his feet. “He don’t need no water. ’Paches go days without none.”

Fury boiled up within Summer, and she took a step toward the water bucket. Her eyes met those of the bearded man, and she read the threat in them. She glanced at the Indian, noticing that the flesh had sunk in between the cheekbones and jaws, and the rope about his neck was so tight that his mouth was open as he sucked air into his lungs. He was watching her with dull, lifeless eyes.

A commotion behind her drew her attention. Sadie was blocking the doorway, preventing John Austin from coming out.

“Can I see the Indian, Summer?” He tried to dart beneath Sadie’s arm, but she drew him back.

“Stay inside, John Austin,” Summer ordered sharply. Anger stiffened her back and she dipped the dipper in the water pail and went toward the Indian, who leaned toward her with open mouth.

The black-bearded man moved fast, and the dipper went flying from her hand.

“Hold on. Ain’t nobody a givin’ that ’Pache no water.”

“He needs water badly, and he shall have it!” Summer’s heart pounded heavily. She picked up the dipper and returned to the bench, refilled it, and started toward the Indian again.

“Got grit, ain’t ya?” The man grabbed her close to his foul-smelling body, his hand coming around her to cup and squeeze her breast. “Ain’t nothin’ I like more’n a spunky woman.”

Summer swung the dipper at his leering face. The blow was light and the water spilled over him. He laughed and fastened his hand in the front of her dress, holding her away from him. Summer’s knees shook and she went rigid with terror.

It all happened in a moment.

“Let go! Let my sister go!” John Austin shouted, and threw himself in between Summer and the man, his fists pounding. The man laughed again, loudly, and with one sweep of his arm sent the boy rolling in the dust.

Rage and fear mixed in Summer. Her fingers formed talons and reached for his eyes, missed, and raked his face.

“You . . . bitch!” he snarled and slapped her with an open palm. Her head jarred, and only the hold he had on the front of her dress kept her from going to her knees. She vaguely heard the sound of hoof beats. Then, close to her, a young, excited voice.

“Get away! Leave her be!” Pud jumped from his horse and threw himself at the man, who easily shoved him to the ground while still holding Summer. Pud bounced up and launched himself again at the burly figure, flaying him with his fists.

“Keep away, boy. I don’t aim to tell ya again.” He flung Pud from him a second time. The boy went staggering before falling heavily.

Bouncing up, Pud lowered his head and charged. With a vicious oath, the man loosened his hold on Summer’s dress, drew his gun, and fired.

Summer screamed.

Pud’s footsteps faltered and he sank to the ground. There was another shot, and the man staggered back against his horse, his eyes seeking, his mouth open in surprise, a blossom of bright blood covering his chest. Sadie stood in the doorway, both hands holding the six-gun, waiting. . . . The man tried to raise his arm, but the gun slipped between his fingers as he began to vomit blood and collapsed in a heap between his horse’s legs.

The frightened horse shied, the rope about the Indian’s neck pulled taut and jerked him from the pinto.

Summer ran to Pud. He lay deathly still, and his blood poured out onto the ground. Instantly, Sadie was beside him, tearing open his shirt and stuffing the cloth from her skirt into the gaping wound to stop the bleeding.

“Summer! The Indian!” John Austin’s screams reached her consciousness.

The frightened horse was backing away, dragging the Indian by the rope looped about his neck. He was choking to death! She ran to the horse, but he turned as if to bolt. Desperately, she grabbed one of the trailing reins and pulled up, hard, turning the animal around. Frantically, she sought to unwind the rope from the saddlehorn.

The Apache was almost unconscious by the time she loosened the rope. She fell on her knees beside him and worked, frenziedly, crying in her frantic effort to pull the rope through the slip knot so he could breathe. He was bucking and thrashing and she placed her knee on his chest to hold him while her fingers pulled at the heavy rope. At last, it came free, and he lay there sucking in great gulps of air. His eyes had rolled back in his head, and his swollen lips were pulled back over his teeth while his tongue protruded.

“Bring water! Wet his tongue,” she commanded John Austin. “Don’t let but a trickle go down his throat, or he’ll choke.”

She hurried to where Sadie bent over Pud.

“Is it bad? Oh, God! Tell me it isn’t bad!”

“I don’t know. I’m a feared of taking out this wadding. Somebody’s comin’. Hurry! Hurry!” she shouted.

Summer only had time to register the sound of the rapidly nearing horses when Bulldog and Raccoon yanked their mounts to a halt and leaped to the ground. The old cowboy’s eyes took in the scene at a glance, pausing momentarily at the crumbled heap that was the dead man. Seeing the danger was over, he knelt beside Sadie.

“Here, now, let me see.”

Is he . . . ? Is he . . . ?” Summer whispered on a sobbing breath.

Bulldog gently moved the wad of Sadie’s skirt and the wound rapidly filled. He pressed it back and got to his feet.

“Ya done good, Sadie. Ya done real good, girl. Summer, get some cloth to plug the hole and we’ll get him onto a bed.” He glanced at the dead man. “Who shot him?”

“Sadie,” Summer sobbed. “If Sadie hadn’t a shot him, I don’t know what he would have done.”

“Yer a good woman, Sadie. Yer a good, strong woman.” A compliment from Bulldog was something to be treasured, but Sadie disregarded it. Her small, pert features were tight, her eyes cold.

“T’was no more than killin’ a . . . varmit!”

Summer gazed down at the boy and swallowed hard. A stray breeze ruffled his sandy blond hair, blood from his wound stained the ground where he lay.

“Will he . . . ?” She could hardly bring herself to say the words.

“Ain’t nobody a knowin’ that,” Bulldog said abruptly. “Move gal, we ain’t got no time for jawin’.”

Pud was moved, with the least amount of jarring possible, to the bunk in the kitchen. The wound in his side was cleaned, and a quantity of whiskey poured into it before clean bandages were wrapped tightly around his body. The bullet had gone into his side and out his back, miraculously missing ribs and vital organs. He remained unconscious, but Bulldog, who seemed to be an authority on gunshot wounds, said that was due to shock and loss of blood. They were to keep him covered, and as soon as possible give him several spoonfuls of honey.