Read Online This Loving Land by Dorothy Garlock - Free Book Online

were so sensitive about it. No amount of pretending is going to make it go away, you know.”
    “On second thought,” he said icily, “I think I prefer your outspokenness to sly glances.” He made to get up. “More coffee?”
    When he was seated again, she asked, “Why didn’t you ride with us? I saw you in the store.”
    “On my way to town, I found Indian signs. We haven’t had Indian trouble for a year or two. Figured I’d better scout ahead.”
    “I was scared,” she confessed.
    “Only a fool wouldn’t be scared of Apaches,” he said drily.
    “You were the one Bulldog was worried about.” She made it a statement. “He called you a stubborn mule.”
    He almost smiled. “He’s an old cluckin’ hen.”
    “I don’t mind his gruffness. I like him. Jack, too.” She laughed, remembering how surprised Bulldog was when he met her at the hotel. “Didn’t he know I was grown up? He thought he was meeting two children.”
    Slater’s eyes never left her face. Her sparkle was infectious. He smiled, showing even white teeth, and she was surprised at the change it made in his grim face.
    “Time doesn’t mean much to Bulldog.” He continued to watch her.
    “I invited Sadie and her little girl to come out and live with us after Bulldog said we were going out to a homestead. I had the idea John Austin and I would be living out on the prairie, miles from anyone else.”
    She stopped talking. With a sense of shock, she realized he was waiting for her to say something more. She straightened her back and said nothing, but her eyes were drawn to his, and he held them, probing them, before moving from her eyes to her hair and down the full length of her body. Her cheeks flamed.
    When she did speak, her voice was calm, firm; it surprised her.
    “We’re going to plant a garden right away. And there’s another thing. . . .” Her voice trailed away only because she didn’t know how to put into words that their cash money was gone and she needed a way to earn more.
    “And . . . what?” he prompted.
    She folded her hands in her lap and bent her head, her lids drooping over suddenly moist eyes, her courage leaving her.
    “I want to discuss the bill at the store.” She hoped, desperately, that he didn’t know how nervous she had become. Looking straight into his eyes, she added, “You needn’t feel you must be responsible for us.”
    “You’re not a charity case, if that’s what you’re thinking. The land was your mother’s. We only used it all these years. Sam’s instructions were clear. He wanted you to come home and have what was yours. He was . . . fond of your mother.”
    Her spirits rose a little. But she wished he had said it was what he wanted, and not what Sam wanted.
    “Sam left you a small amount of cash money. I’ll keep it, if you like, until you need it. In the meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, let me know. Your place is part of the Keep, and we take care of our own.”
    Their eyes met in silent assessment of each other. He knew every question and answer that flitted through her mind; she could see it in his eyes. Summer’s chin began to tilt and she tossed her head back as if to shake the hair from her face. She knew this was her outward sign that inside she was nervous, afraid, uncertain. She wanted to remember another time, but his eyes drew all coherent thinking from her mind, and she asked rather absently:
    “Why did he name the ranch McLean’s Keep?”
    The rare smile surfaced again. “To Scots, the word ‘keep’ means fortress, castle, lands, possessions. Sam McLean loved everything Scottish. He built this Spanish-style house because it suited the land and the materials were available, but everything else on the Keep is Scottish. He worked hard and was frugal as only a Scot can be. This place proves what one determined man can build in a lifetime. I intend to hold it in trust for the next generation of McLeans.”
    Summer carried the cups and plate to the counter to