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

hide her unexpectedly flushed face. He was standing when she turned, and she saw him wince as he put his weight on the injured leg.
    “Shouldn’t you stay off that leg?” She tilted her face up to look at him, and almost automatically he turned the smooth cheek toward her.
    “Yes,” he assented begrudgingly. His eyes glinted briefly when he looked into her wide violet ones. “Don’t tell Bulldog I admitted it.”
    Her eyes searched his face, her hand on the back of the chair steadied her.
    “I came to thank Sam McLean,” she said quietly.
    He grinned down at her. “Consider it done.”
    She smiled back, somehow not wanting to leave, but since he didn’t say anything, she moved to the door. He followed, and they walked through the dining room and into the large room fronting the house. His pace was slow and he held his leg stiffly.
    “It’s a beautiful house,” Summer said admiringly.
    “You don’t remember it at all?”
    She looked about the room and shook her head.
    “You don’t remember hiding behind the couch and jumping out at me when I came through the door?”
    That made her look up at him, her eyes wide. She studied his face. It told her nothing except that he was fascinated by her expression.
    “And the swing I made for you?” The smile left his face. “And how afraid you were to cross the footbridge?” It seemed to Summer he watched her with his whole body, not just his eyes, and that all his muscles were coiled, taut, in anticipation of her answer.
    She moistened her dry lips. She felt as if she were in a vacuum, being drawn toward him.
    “You . . . You promised to come . . . and fetch me home.” Her eyes were filling with tears and her lips trembled.
    “That I did, summertime girl.” The words were so softly spoken they barely reached her ears.
    Summer opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stared at him as if stunned, her mind stumbling and forming no logical thoughts. The desire to cling to him burned so strongly in her that she had no will to resist his arms as they closed about her and he hugged her tight. Strange sensations went zig-zag along her nerves, and her fingers fanned out across his back as she hugged him in return. Finally, she tilted her head and looked up into his face.
    “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