This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [51]
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.
Nine
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.