This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [87]
Summer’s thoughts drifted to John Austin. How proud of him she was! He had been able to communicate with the Apache when the rest of them couldn’t. He had a new hero now. With a start, she realized that she hadn’t even thought of him since Slater had been brought in. Jack had promised to look after him, and Jack’s word was next to Slater’s.
Another thing Jack had told her was that he was going to invite Bermaga and his people to come onto the ranch land and stay as long as they wished. It’s what Slater would do, he said. Summer was glad that Jack had thought of it.
If Slater was better by morning, she thought drowsily, she would go back to the “little place” and get clean clothes and apologize to Ellen. There was the matter of the outlaws . . . and she still had to hear the story of how Slater got away from them and how he happened to be with the Indians.
Hours passed. She didn’t move. She kept her eyes on Slater’s face. She must have dozed, because suddenly she realized his eyes were open and he was looking at her.
“Slater? Darling,” she breathed, and slipped to her knees beside the bed. “Darling, you’re awake!”
“Summer . . .” His voice was the merest of whispers. “Kiss me.”
“Kiss you? Yes, darling . . . yes, yes, yes.”
She placed small, feathery kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes.
“I’m not dreaming?”
“No, darling, you’re not dreaming. You’re home and you’re going to be all right.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.” Weak tears fell from the corners of his eyes and rolled across his temples to the pillow. She kissed them away and murmured to him.
“Sleep, darling, and when you wake we’ll get some food into you. You must be starved.”
“Water.”
She spooned water into his mouth from the dipper. After a while he closed his eyes wearily.
“Go to sleep, sweet darling,” she crooned in his ear. “You’ll feel much better when you wake again.”
Morning came and Slater slept on. Teresa was sure now, barring infection, he would recover.
“He may sleep all day, señorita. When he wake he will be hungry as a bear.”
Summer went to the veranda at midmorning. Santi, whose real name was something longer that no one could pronounce, waited there.
“Is Bermaga still here?”
“No, señorita. He go.”
“I wanted to talk to him. Do something for him.”
“He take nothing but tobacco.”
“We’ll never be able to repay him.”
“Bermaga say his life belong to señorita with eyes like the mountain flower. He be her friend and blood brother to Tall Man.”
To Summer, the day was exceptionally beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue, with mounds of huge white clouds scattered about. The baskets hanging on the veranda were bursting with blossoms, honey bees buzzed, bluejays scolded, mockingbirds sang, muffled sounds of children playing came from the back of the house. Everything was wonderful! The tight hold she had kept on her emotions for the past days had loosened. Slater was back, her world had stopped tilting.
Warm, friendly violet eyes smiled at Santi.
“I need to go over to the other place.”
Santi took off his flat-crowned sombrero and smiled broadly.
“Santi will see the señorita there. Teresa, she say . . .” He rolled his eyes.
Summer smiled. She could imagine what it would be like to have the capable Mexican woman for a mother-in-law.
As they rode down the path toward the creek, they passed a drover armed with a rifle. He didn’t seem to notice their passing. On a rise above the creek, another man stood, motionless, looking toward the north, his weapon cradled in his arms. Until now, the threat to the ranch had been pushed to the back of Summer’s mind.
“Santi, are they expecting the outlaws to come here?”
“Sí, señorita. We watch. We wait. Every man has a post. Bad man come—we kill!”
The viciousness in his voice caused her to look at his face. It was cold, set, determined.
Fourteen
The house was quiet when they reached it. Summer dismounted and Santi took the