This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [23]
“You’re the boy? The one that called me summertime girl—I tried and tried to remember.” Her voice was tremulous with elation.
He loosened his arms and she stepped back, her face radiant.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I was about your brother’s age when you were born in that cabin. You belonged here.”
“Thank you for bringing me back.”
“Thank you for coming back, summertime girl.”
Their glances met and measured each other again. Her head whirled and she gave him what she hoped was a smile.
“I must go,” she said breathlessly. “I better see about John Austin. He’s . . . kind of a handful sometimes.”
“So Bulldog said.” He was reluctant for her to leave. “Turn him over to Jack. He’s the best I ever saw with kids. Likes them, too. He’ll have your brother eating out of his hand in no time.”
Summer sobered. “John Austin is one of the reasons I came out here. After you get to know him, you’ll understand. He’s terribly bright, but what worried Mama and worries me is that he doesn’t have what you call . . . horse-sense.” Their eyes clung for a breathless moment, then she dropped her lids and continued. “Mama said Sam McLean would know how to handle him.”
“And he would have.” His voice was husky. “Now I’ll see to it.”
Summer’s heart gave a frantic leap and lodged in her throat. She was agonizingly aware that he wanted her to stay, but her thoughts were not functioning the way they should, they seemed to stumble about in awed bewilderment. She turned her back, then halted a pace away. Bootheels rang on the stone floor of the veranda, and Bulldog appeared in the doorway. He looked from one to the other, then tugged his hat from his head.
“Got company down to the other place.” In spite of his calm manner, indignation showed in his tight lips.
“Company?” Slater moved out from where he was leaning against the door frame. “Who?”
“Miz Ellen, that’s who! Miz Ellen ’n her whole tribe!” Bulldog now bristled like an enraged porcupine. “Come a ridin’ in jist as pretty as ya please, that big galoot by ’er side along with that sorry cur she calls ‘son.’ Same bunch what was in town. Now you just tell me what they’s come fer, after all this time of not settin’ a foot on the place?”
Slater’s eyes had narrowed. “Anyone down there?”
“Jack.” Bulldog flung a hand out irritably. “We saw the dust and went to look. Then we high-tailed it over to the ‘little place’ to be a waitin’ fer ’em.”
Summer’s interest grew with every passing second.
“She didn’t lose any time.” Slater leveled his sharp gaze on Summer and she met his eyes. Sensing that somehow this crisis had to do with her, she felt compelled to ask:
“Are the visitors at my mother’s place?”
Slater lowered himself into a chair and sat rigidly erect. He studied her for a moment before he spoke.
“Ellen McLean and her son have come to call on you.” He bit the words out icily. “Enjoy your guests. They’re not welcome here.” Abruptly, he hoisted himself up from the chair and limped out of the room.
Summer stood as if he had struck her. She turned wondering eyes to Bulldog, but he slammed his hat down on his head and walked away from her. She went to the door Slater had just passed through.
“Slater.” He was going down the hall and stopped when she called to him, but didn’t turn around. “Why are you angry? Is it because of Ellen McLean? Why has she come all this way to call on me?”
He turned around, showing her only the scarred side of his face.
“She wants you for a daughter-in-law.” He ground out the words in a low, husky voice. “And Ellen usually gets what she wants.”
Summer turned her head away before he saw the distress in her eyes, and when she looked back he was gone.
Five