This Loving Land (9 page)

Nothing can hang on for long when its time is past, Jesse mused, as he lifted the whiskey bottle and poured himself a drink. His time here was coming to a close. It was time for him to consider what was best for him. And for Ellen. This was her home. She would never leave it. The thought of parting with Ellen was not as disturbing as it would have been a few years—or even a few months—ago. There had been a time when he would have killed Travis; waylaid him and killed him in cold blood, if necessary, in order to stay with Ellen. Now, the simple truth was he had become dissatisfied with his life.

Mentally, he saw the girl again: big green eyes, unruly bronze curls, her lips, face and neck marked by Travis’s attack. Then, the frightened eyes that turned on him when he stepped from the shadows to give her a push in the swing, the color draining from her cheeks on hearing Travis’s insults. All day, he had been seeing that face.

He finished his drink and started up the stairs, his mind lingering on the woman and her child out at McLean’s Keep. She would be safe there. As safe from Travis as she would be anywhere.

He was still thinking about her when he opened the door to his room. He stood still for a moment, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present. In the faint glow of the oillamp burning on his bureau, he saw Ellen, lying relaxed and smiling, on his bed. He quietly closed the door.

When he turned, she was beside him, dressed in a simple, flowing pink robe, her blonde hair parted in the center, falling freely to her waist, her half-shut eyes containing the unmistakable look of longing.

Jesse looked down at her critically, as if assessing her for the first time. For a moment, he felt awkward. He couldn’t greet her as he had in the past when she had surprised him in his room. The image of the girl at McLean’s Keep created a formidable barrier between them.

“Jesse, darling,” she said in a deeper, softer voice than the one she usually used, “I’ve missed you.”

“You knew where to find me,” were the only words he could find.

“It wasn’t convenient, darling. I’ll deny myself ’before I’ll be indiscreet.”

She kissed him lightly with her hot, moist, eager mouth, and pressed her softness against him, pressing the area of his sex firmly with a circular motion of her hips. Then her eyes narrowed.

“I love how you touch me, Jesse . . .” Her voice was a whispering monotone. “You make me come alive, Jesse . . . be good to me, darling. Love me . . . a little.”

For an instant, Jesse hesitated. She kissed him again. The scent of her filled his nostrils. In seconds, the warmth of her body fused into his and he felt a surging excitement, a tingling warmth. He lifted her hair and buried his face in her neck. He could feel her heat, the warmth of her breath on his ears and neck. His mouth covered hers and he kissed her like a hungry child. His hands moved hesitatingly; then as he could feel her assent, he gripped her hard.

When she struggled a little, he loosened his arms and stood away from her obediently. He made no move to resist her when she began to remove his coat, then his shirt and trousers. It was a ritual between them. When he stood nude before her, she slid her hands down over his chest, feeling the smoothness of his ribs, the powerful muscles in his shoulders and back. Her experienced hands moved quickly, unnerving his body with their probing and caressing, seeking the response she desired. She loved the powerful feeling of knowing that her touch brought vulnerable animal sounds from him, and he stood quivering when she stroked certain sensitive areas. It was only when his powerful body had taken as much as it would endure and his clenched fists and twisted face told her his control was about to break that she allowed him to touch her.

He jerked the robe from her body and snatched her up in his arms. In two quick strides, he reached the bed and literally threw her onto it. His mind was a complete blank. Only his own release and the pleasing of Ellen was important to him now.

Summer was toting a bucket of water up from the creek to water the garden when she heard the sound of a horse splashing. Looking over her shoulder she saw Slater, seated on a big black horse, leading a small sorrel. Almost a week had passed since she had gone to the ranch house and he had turned his back on her.

Instantly, she was aware of the sweat-soaked dress clinging to her bosom and the flying hair escaping down her neck. She cursed the color that came up to flood her face.

The horse came up alongside of her. The saddle creaked as Slater reached down and took the bucket from her hand.

“John.” His voice was not loud, but it had authority. John Austin, Iying on his stomach in the dirt, jumped to his feet.

“Hello, Slater.”

“Any man worth his salt don’t laze around while his women work.” He handed him the bucket.

“Jack said it was dawdling.”

“Whatever it is, we don’t do it.”

Summer wanted to say something in the boy’s defense. She wanted Slater to know that John Austin was the way he was because she had not had time to stop and teach him practical things. All the time she could spare had been used to satisfy the boy’s craving for schooling. Slater’s eyes shifted to her and she was certain, from the way be looked at her, that he knew what she was thinking, feeling.

“He helps when I ask him.” Her chin went up. “Sometimes, his mind is on other things.”

“You do too much for him,” Slater said quietly. “He’s lazy.”

“He is not!” she protested. “He just thinks about . . . things.”

He ignored her and turned to the boy. “Have you ever had a horse?” John Austin shook his head. “You’ve got one now.” He handed the boy the reins of the small sorrel. “He’s yours for as long as you take care of him. You are to take care of him, understand? I don’t mean your sister or Pud. You.”

Summer’s heart lurched. “Oh, I don’t think . . . I mean, he doesn’t know about . . . he’s never. . . .”

Slater was faintly amused. “It’s time be was put in the traces.”

“You misunderstand me. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“He’ll survive a few knocks. Get on the horse, son.”

When Summer made a move to assist her brother, Slater edged his horse in between her and the sorrel. She looked up to protest. The horse had turned and the scarred side of Slater’s face was turned to her. She caught her breath sharply, involuntarily wincing at the pain he must have suffered. He misunderstood her reaction and his mouth tightened and his nostrils flared. A strange gleam came into his eyes.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Her innocent amazement seemed to anger him, and the livid expression in his eyes made her take a step backwards. “Not handsome like Travis McLean.” His drawl was taunting. “Never judge a man by his looks. Judge him by his actions.”

“What makes you think I’m judging you?”

“The way you’re looking at me. Like you’ve suddenly seen the devil himself.”

“I was only thinking of how you must have suffered.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side, as if he didn’t believe her. His hard stare never eased from her face.

“It was nothing compared to seeing my pa shot down by cowards with covered faces, and knowing who was responsible and not being able to do anything about it!”

From under straight dark brows she studied him curiously. His scarred cheek, his hard dark eyes, the derisive slant of his well-shaped, firm mouth, the pugnacious jut of his jaw. All gave the impression of toughness. He looked as if he lived and worked for only one thing—revenge. Slowly, her glance drifted down to the gunbelt strapped firmly about his hips and the revolver resting against his thigh. She guessed the gun had been a part of him for so long he would feel naked without it.

He continued to watch her, his thick lashes almost hiding the blue-black eyes. She had the impression that all his muscles were coiled and ready to spring into action, as if she were an Indian. A tingling went down her spine, and was followed suddenly by overwhelming weariness. Almost without realizing it, she rubbed a hand across her brow in a gesture of near-exhaustion.

When he spoke, his voice was soft as velvet. “I’ll snake water up in a ditch if you insist on having the garden. You don’t need it, you know. There’s plenty at the Keep for all of us.”

“No. You’ve done enough. We don’t expect you to feed us, too.”

From under the brim of his tilted, broad-brimmed hat, his eyes glared at her, wicked, livid light flickering in them.

‘’You heard me,” he retorted curtly. “There’s no need for you to exhaust yourself carrying water to this garden. Sam McLean planned for this ranch to be part of the Keep. We plant corn, wheat, and grow vegetables. We raise chickens, keep bees, and run cattle. We also have an orchard. This place is part of us.” Bitterness edged his voice. “Or have you already decided to join your land to Travis McLean’s?”

“No!” Her cry of protest came straight from her heart. She was on the verge of tears, suddenly, because she couldn’t bear the thought of him being so angry and suspicious of her. She realized how distant she had grown from the boy she had once adored. “I don’t know you,” she managed to say, “and I don’t know them. I only wanted a place to bring John Austin.” Her mouth trembled and she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from disgracing her. “I won’t be in the middle of your feud with Travis and Ellen. And . . . another thing . . . I don’t want this land. My brother and I are not entitled to it. You and your father made the improvements on it. All I ask of you is a place for John Austin until he is old enough to make his own way.”

She stood in troubled silence while Slater looked at her. He couldn’t help but wonder at the grit of this woman. He hadn’t counted on her disrupting his whole life, as she had done since the first day he saw her getting off the stage at Hamilton. She stood stiff and proud and he saw her fine-boned profile set with the effort not to betray her tears.

“No, you don’t know me at all, Summer. But you’re going to.” He touched the brim of his hat obligingly. “I’ll be back.” He looked over his shoulder and gave a short whistle. The sorrel pricked up its ears and moved slowly in behind the big black. Slater turned his horse toward the creek and the sorrel followed. John Austin feet flapping against the mare’s sides and holding tightly to the pommel, gave Summer a huge smile as he passed her.

She stood wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingers, wondering vaguely why she wept, why he affected her emotions in a way that she couldn’t control. She was losing her hold on the person she had always tried to be: composed, competent, wellmannered.

Sadie walked over to her quietly. “Let’s rest a while.”

“Suits me.”

The strong sunlight had caused the freckles to pop out in surprising numbers on Sadie’s pert nose, and her bronze hair, damp with sweat, was kinking into tight curls. She looked searchingly at Summer, trying to decide if the dampness on her cheeks was caused by tears or sweat.

“Who was that man?” she asked, after they had refreshed themselves with a cool drink.

“Slater McLean.”

“I remember seeing him in town. He came to the dance hall and watched. You’d not forget a face like that. Not ‘cause it’s cut up some, but ‘cause he didn’t smile a’tall. I never saw him till the last couple nights I was there.” Sadie’s green eyes watched Summer through red-gold lashes. In all her young life, Sadie had known little love, and much loneliness, longing and hardship. There had been years of impossible struggle. And from that struggle, she had learned to judge men. “I’d say he’s a man who wastes no time once he gets his mind set. I’ve seen his kind afore. He don’t go swaggerin’ around huntin’ trouble, ‘cause he’s had it a plenty. He’s been up the creek and over the mountain, as my pa used to say, and takes to fightin’ and standin’ up for hisself like you and me take to makin’ a batch of cornbread. It’s everyday work to him. Now, he’s the kind of man I’d tie to . . . if’n I ever got the chance!”

Summer avoided her eyes. “I knew him when I was a little girl,” she said. After that, it was easy to talk to Sadie, to tell her about her mother, Sam McLean and Slater. She didn’t say anything about Ellen or Travis or Slater’s hatred. “My mother was so sure Sam McLean would take care of us that she made me promise to come here. Slater is just carrying out his father’s wishes and I’m grateful, but . . . I don’t like feeling so . . . obligated!”

“Don’t ya like him?” Sadie asked shyly. Then, before Summer could answer, she blurted out, “He’s ten times the man that varmit of a Travis is, I tell you! I ain’t never even talked to the man, but I can tell that by lookin’.”

Summer had to laugh at Sadie’s vehemence. Then she said seriously, “We must do everything we can for ourselves before we ask for help, Sadie. And if there is anything that we can do for them. . . .” She left the words hanging and drew her brows together in thought.

Sadie’s green eyes twinkled. “I know what we can do! Cowhands like nothin’ better than doughnuts. Well, I’m here to tell ya that I’m the best doughnutmaker in all of Texas! We’ll make up a dishpan full, that’s what we’ll do. Those cowhands will wonder how they ever lived without us!” She got up. “I’ll do it right now, Summer. That is, after I see what that Mary is up to. She’s mad ‘cause she didn’t get to go with John Austin—had herself a regular spell-thinks he’s the grandest thing ever hatched.”

“I must have felt that way about Slater when I was young.” The words were an echo of what was in her mind. Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “Why do you dislike Travis, Sadie? Was he unkind to you at the dance hall?”

“Unkind!” The word exploded from Sadie. “That polecat passed right over ‘unkind’ and went over to downright horrible. Take my word for it, Summer, that man ain’t worth doodle-de-squat!” She disappeared around the corner of the house. “Mary!” Summer ,heard her. “Don’t eat that worm! You ain’t no bird!”

In the quiet of her departure,Summer sat thoughtfully. A big June bug buzzed against the glass window pane. Behind the house, she could hear Sadie scolding. Down by the creek, a mockingbird sang. Then she heard the sound of a male voice and Slater and John Austin rode into the yard. Summer watched the man on the big horse and the boy on the sorrel. Her little brother was slipping away from her.

Slater dismounted and glanced at the boy. The kid had grit and staying power; he had taken him over a rough trail and the tyke had hung on like he was glued.

“Get off the horse, John, and come ‘round and talk to her. She’ll learn you’re not afraid. That’s the first thing she needs to know about you. After that, she’ll know who’s boss and will be your best friend, could save your life someday. You take care of her and she’ll take care of you.” He talked evenly and confidently, showed the boy how to strip off the saddle and bridle, stood aside while John Austin struggled, and then helped him tturnthe mare into the corral.

“You’re not going, are you, Slater? Can I come with you? Can I look at your books?”

“I’ll bring some over for you after you finish your chores.” They walked to the woodpile. “Stack this wood in a neat pile, John. And gather the chips in that tow-sack and leave them outside the back door for the women to use to start the fire.” Slater picked up the axe that was lying on the ground and sunk the blade in a log. “Never leave the axe on the ground when you’re through with it. Always sink the blade into the stump and it will stay free of rust. Another day I’ll teach you to use it. Now I’ll show you how to stack the wood so if we get a downpour it won’t all get water-soaked.”

As long as Slater worked, John Austin worked. When Slater stopped to roll a smoke, John Austin stopped until Slater motioned him to continue.

An hour later, the two of them walked into the kitchen. Slater hung his hat on a peg and stepped outside to the washbench. John Austin, his face covered with sweat, bark and wood-dust, headed for the table and snatched a cake from the pile of freshly sugar-dusted doughnuts.

Slater appeared in the doorway. “Wash first, John.”

To Summer’s annoyance, her brother sat down at the table and stuffed his mouth with the warm cake. Before she could say anything, Slater spoke again.

“Up, John!” It was as unexpected as the crack of a whip.

The boy looked at his sister and wiped his hands on his shirt. Summer’s face flooded with embarrassment.

“John Austin!” she hissed. At that moment, she could have slapped him.

“Did you hear me, John?” Slater was behind him. He glanced at Summer. Her face was flushed, but her chin was up and her eyes wide.

“He doesn’t usually. . . .” she began.

John Austin glanced unconcernedly at Slater. Summer would take care of it. She always did. He reached for another cake. A hard brown hand engulfed his, and he was lifted from the chair.

“It’s time you had a lesson in obedience and manners, boy.” He headed for the door. Summer’s heart leaped into her throat when her brother looked back at her with pleading eyes. “Get out to the woodpile and finish stacking the wood. Then, wash your hands and apologize to your sister and Mrs. Bratcher. Do you understand?”

There was a long silence when Slater turned from the door. Summer stood, dusting the hot doughnuts with sugar, not trusting herself to words because they would have been indignant ones. They would have been in defense of herself, and only partly because of John Austin.