This Loving Land (12 page)

“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 fifty 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.

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 down 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.

“I trust your mother is well,” she said, stalling for time.

“Yes, she’s fine. Planning this blow-out is keeping her busy.” He stood looking at her, smiling, waiting to see what she was going to do.

Finally, she decided she was making a dilemma where there was none.

“We’ll have a meal ready shortly, Travis. You’re welcome to stay and eat.”

“I’d like nothing better, if you’re sure its no bother. Excuse me, and I’ll water my horse.”

Summer nodded and slipped into the house.

Sadie watched her leave with dread, realizing she was alone in the yard with Travis and would have to pass him to get to the house. Fighting her terror, she punched and probed at the boiling clothes with the stick, desperately wanting to break and run as she watched him approach. He wouldn’t do anything here in plain sight of the house, she reasoned, but even those thoughts didn’t stop the lump of fear that came up in her throat. He stopped scarcely two feet from her. With his hat under his arm, he bowed his head as if in respectful greeting.

“Hello, split-tail.” He smiled with his lips, but his eyes remained steely cold. “You didn’t think I’d forget what happened that morning and whose fault it was, did you?”

Sadie moved around to the other side of the boiling pot, her eyes never leaving his face. He stood with his back to the house.

“Stay away from me.” Her brain hummed. She would wrap the boiling shirt around the stick and hit him with it if he came any closer.

“What makes you think I want to touch you?” His tone was conversational, but behind each nostril showed white, and his eyes shone a brilliant blue. “Touch you? I could have you begging for it in no time a’tall; that is, if I’d put myself out to please a whore.”

She managed a breathless laugh. “I’d die first.”

“I can arrange that, too. Better yet, I can arrange it for that little bastard of yours.” He smiled pleasantly.

“You touch a hair on her head and I’ll spill your rotten guts all over creation,” she hissed. Fresh alarm shot through her. She had been too frightened for herself to give a thought that he might harm Mary. Horrified and trembling like a leaf, Sadie grabbed the stick with both hands. “You’re crazy!” she gasped.

“Might be, but I sure do have me a time.” He laughed and ran his hand through his hair, and to Summer, looking out the doorway, the two by the boiling pot were having a pleasant conversation.

"One of my reasons for making this long, hot, dusty ride was to see you. I’ve been a thinking about you since that morning. You thought you had a little something going with Jesse.” He laughed, this time nastily. “You’ll not get him away from my mama. He might crawl on you if it comes handy, but I’m thinkin’ he’s already got a place to go.” His voice lowered menacingly. “I don’t want you here with Summer! If you as much as breathe a word to her about me, you’ll not leave this place alive.”

A tight hand seemed to be squeezing the breath out of her body. Through a daze, she heard him talking again, his voice taut with restrained anger.

“It won’t be like the last time. There won’t be no Jesse a chargin’ to the rescue.”

“I ain’t said nothin’ to Summer about you or what you . . . did!”

“Goddammit! Do you think I’d believe a slut? Go! I don’t aim to be looking at you every time I come here to see Summer.” His face had grown dark with anger, and she thought his eyes almost shot sparks of blue flame. Suddenly, he laughed in a boastful way that made her despise him all the more. “From that hill yonder, a man with a good rifle could pick off a chicken in this yard.” He cocked his head to one side. “That kid of yours is quite a bit bigger than a chicken.”

“I’ll tell Mr. McLean. . . .” she blurted out in desperation.

He lifted his shoulders in resignation, glancing over his shoulder toward the house; then his eyes played over her, bringing a helpless, humiliating flush upward to the roots of her hair.

“I’d get you. If I didn’t get your kid first, so you’d know what to expect. I got friends up in the hills and they owe me plenty.” His lips curled in a sneer. “You didn’t think I was dumb enough to ride in here alone?”

“Sadie!” The call came from Summer. “Can that batch of wash wait till after the nooning?”

Sadie tore her eyes away from the man’s leering face and thought with lucid remoteness that she could call out to Summer, tell her to get the gun from the top shelf and kill this rattlesnake. Her eyes flicked back to him. His face was tense, waiting. She made a helpless gesture and his face relaxed.

“Wait right here.” His voice was no more than a purring whisper. “I’ll water my horse and we’ll go in together.” He led his horse past her to the watering trough.

“I’ll be there in no time a’tall, Summer.” Sadie called on all her inner resources to keep the fear that was eating her alive out of her voice. She had no chance against a man like Travis McLean. He was handsome, rich, spoke too fast. Summer would never believe the conversation that had just taken place. Never believe it fast enough to act.

Sadie walked into the kitchen as if in a nightmare, numbly thinking that this couldn’t be real. This place had been a safe haven for her and Mary. She had been happier than she could ever remember. Now this piss-ant coming through the door behind her was making it a hell. The thoughts of what he threatened to do to Mary were too awful to think about. Jesse Thurston flashed through her mind. Oh, but he was a world away, and she and Mary were here with Travis McLean.

Mary was sitting on the bunk playing with some paper dolls that John Austin had cut out for her. Sadie, weeping inside, picked her up, holding her tightly. Summer turned from the stove with a pan of cornbread.

“I put her box on the chair, Sadie. She can sit here beside John Austin.”

“Your daughter is almost as pretty as you are, Mrs. Bratcher.” Travis stood observing the two of them, a pleasant smile on his face. “Same green eyes, same beautiful red hair. It’s been a long while since I held such a pretty girl on my lap. Come to me, young miss. Let’s see how big you are.”

“No!” The word burst from Sadie’s lips. “No. She’s . . . scared of strangers.”

Summer’s head came up and a puzzled look crossed her face. Even John Austin got to his feet. With his back to the others, Travis looked at Sadie with narrowed eyes.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, young miss?” His voice was pleasant, wheedling. “Come to Uncle Travis. I’ll find a big, shiny penny for this pretty girl.” He reached for the child and she went willingly.

Sadie’s heart almost burst with fright. She went to the shelf, fighting back waves of nausea, grabbed up the crock of butter, anything to give herself time to compose her face before going to the table.

“This is her place, Travis,” Summer was saying. “You can sit next to her, if you like, and John Austin on the other side of you.”

“I’d like that.” He lowered Mary to the box. “How are you, John Austin? What’s that you got there? A picture book?”

“No, sir. It’s about the Revolutionary War. Slater lets me read his books. He’s got a lot of them. This one is about Nathan Hale, who was executed as a spy by the British. Next I’m going to read about the Marquis de Lafayette. He was a Frenchman and he. . . .”

Summer interrupted. “Will you say grace, John Austin?”

“Sure, Summer, then can I tell . . .?”

“Mind your sister,” Travis broke in smoothly. “After we eat, we’ll have a good, long talk.”

The meal progressed smoothly. Travis buttered cornbread for Mary, put vinegar on John Austin’s greens, chatted lightly with Summer. Sadie was quiet, but Summer put that down to shyness. Travis was fascinating company. The children listened raptly to his every word. Summer was sure he was making up stories to amuse them, especially the one about the pony that would rather eat apple pie than sweet clover, but John Austin loved it.

“Slater gave me a horse, Travis. Her name is Georgianna. I think I’ll see if she likes pie. Maybe she’ll like doughnuts, ’cause if she does, she could have lots. Sadie makes good doughnuts.”

“Georgianna? Did you say your horse’s name is Georgianna? Well, what do you know about that?”

By the time the meal was over, the children were completely won over, and Summer had almost forgotten the unpleasant scene with Jesse. Ellen McLean’s son had a nice way about him, she had to admit.

Travis sat on the veranda and talked with John Austin while Summer and Sadie cleared the table. Mary wanted to join them, but Sadie insisted she sit on the bed with her toys.

“We have all afternoon to finish the wash, Sadie. You’ve been whirling around like the house was on fire.” Summer was teasing, but her face sobered when she saw the stricken look on her friend’s face. “Don’t you feel well?” She laid her hand against Sadie’s white cheek. “You’re so white. You’ve been out in that sun and standing over that boiling pot too long.”

“I did get a mite hot. I’ll sit down and rest once we get caught up here.”

The food Sadie had forced down at the dinner table was churning in her stomach, and she kept swallowing the wetness in her mouth to keep from throwing up.

What could she do? Suggestion after suggestion raced through her thoughts, only to be discarded. She could get the gun from the shelf, walk up behind the bastard, and blow out his brains! Then it would be sure death for her and Mary. His friends would seek revenge. She would never know when she and Mary went out the door if they were out there waiting for them. Oh, dear God! The thought made her knees almost collapse under her. Which was safer . . . to stay here or go away? If she went away, she would have no protection at all!