Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  She was glad she couldn’t see his face. This must be a terrible shock to him. Suddenly, she was afraid of what he would say. Her body tensed. There was a long moment while she held her breath, while her heart almost stopped beating. Then the hoarse, whispered words reached her through the silence.

  “My God! I should have known.”

  The visions that came to her, illuminated in her mind, were of the times they had lain together, naked and desperate in their need for each other. Help me, God. Help me to help him. I’ve had five days to accustom my mind to this. If I could bear the pain, the humiliation he is feeling, I would gladly do so. His next words, when they finally penetrated, were as shocking to her as hers had been to him.

  “I had started to suspect.”

  “Suspect?” She felt a terrible sinking sensation.

  “Little things you did that seemed familiar.”

  “You suspected that you and . . . I, and yet you . . . we. . . .” The horror of it was written on her face. “You . . . how could you?” She gasped for breath, choked, made a gurgling sound in her throat. “You’re an animal!”

  Slater struggled to sit up, his bandaged hand reaching out to her.

  “No! It isn’t like that! Summer, listen! We did nothing wrong . . . darling . . . sweetheart . . . we did nothing wrong!”

  If Summer heard, she gave no indication. She had clasped her hands over her ears and was shaking her head in wild denial.

  “Nothing wrong?” she gasped. Dazed, confused, she had expected most anything from him but this.

  “Sam was not my real father!” He shouted the words, trying to penetrate the wall of hysteria that surrounded her.

  Through the storm that shook her, Summer heard the words, but couldn’t comprehend them. Then the insistent pounding of the words: Not my father . . . not my father. Could they be true? Was he lying to cover up what they had done? The forearm of his bandaged hand was striking her arm, shaking her.

  “Stop! Stop!” she cried, and jumped to her feet, tears streaming down her face and into her mouth.

  “Don’t go, Summer! Please, don’t go! Jack and Bulldog will tell you it’s true. I was going to tell you. I swear I was going to tell you. I never dreamed it would be so important.” There was pain, anguish, pleading in every fiber of his voice.

  “Important?” She felt as though she was about to fly into a million pieces. She sank to her knees, her face covered with her hands. She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him!

  “I promised Sam I would never tell. Ellen and Travis would have taken the Keep if they had known.”

  “You’re . . . sure?” she whimpered.

  “I’m positive. I’ve got letters my mother wrote to my father thinking he was still alive. I’ll tell you the whole story. There’s no doubt, sweetheart. No doubt at all. Come to me, my summertime girl. Come let me hold you. God, what I’ve put you through by not telling! Come to me. I’ll make it up to you. I swear I’ll make it up.”

  He lay back with arms outstretched. She crawled to him, like a small, wounded animal, and nestled against him, her wet face pressed in the curve of his neck. His arm came around her, and with surprising strength clasped her to him. The safe haven of his arms was wonderful, glorious! He murmured love-words and nuzzled his face in her hair. His heart was thumping wildly and a clammy film of perspiration covered his bare chest.

  Summer didn’t want to talk. She wanted only to be close to him, savor the delight and enjoy the wonder of being held by him in love. They both felt fatigued and weakened by the emotional ordeal they had been through. Minutes passed without words. Low moans came from Slater’s throat as he kissed every part of her face he could reach with his lips. The sweetness of it caused the tears to come again.

  “It all seems like a bad dream,” she sobbed. “Tell me again. Tell me we didn’t have the same father.”

  They lay close, lips never far apart, breathing the same air, and Slater told her the story of his mother and father and the part Sam had played in their lives.

  “Sam and my pa were boyhood friends back in Scotland. They were close as brothers; closer than Sam was to his own brother, Scott. Sam came to Texas and filed a claim. Times were hard for my pa in Scotland, and Sam wrote for him to come to America. In the meanwhile, Pa had married. My ma was a gentle girl, and crossing the ocean to a new land was a frightful experience for her. The ship they sailed on landed in New Orleans, and from there they took a smaller boat to Corpus Christi. At that time, Corpus was just a frontier trading post and rougher than a cob. It still is, for that matter. Sam went down there to meet them, but before he arrived, my pa, a big brawny Scot, tried to break up a fight and a sailor stabbed him to death right before my mother’s eyes. She never recovered from the shock, never believed he was dead. When Sam got there, he saw there was but one thing for him to do. She was pregnant and alone. He married her and brought her back to the Keep, where I was born. No one knew I wasn’t Sam’s son. It was a long time after my mother died that Sam told me. He wanted me to know about my real pa. He showed me letters my mother had written to him over the years, believing he was still in Scotland and would come for her. Sam wouldn’t have made such a thing of keeping it a secret, but Scott, his brother, and Ellen held that McLean land went to blood McLeans. Sam said it was true in the old country, but this was a new land. There were never any papers to make me Sam’s legal son. You would have had to know him to understand how he depended on his own strength and ignored legal matters. I was his son in every way, except he hadn’t sired me. It mattered so little to me, that years went by and I never thought about it. It doesn’t matter now. Ellen and Travis are dead. The Keep will go on just as Sam planned.”

  “He must have loved my mother,” Summer spoke quietly. “I know she loved him even though she loved my pa, too.”

  “Yes, I think he did love Nannie. I can see that now. He was probably the only man that ever rejected Ellen, and her love for him turned to hate.” He closed her eyes with his lips. “I love you so much. . . .” he whispered. “I wanted to die when you left me.”

  She kissed his neck, his chin, his rough cheek. His head bent and he desperately sought her lips with his. The kiss lasted a long time and was full of sweetness.

  She whispered endearments and sighed his name.

  “My darling summertime girl, the time went so slow. I waited and waited for you to come. I hungered for the feel of you. I need your love. Don’t leave me again.” His humbled voice vibrated with emotion.

  “Don’t talk about it. Please . . . don’t talk about it,” she implored.

  They lay for a long while, close and silent. The campfire burned until only a few glowing coals remained. If Bulldog or Jack came back to the camp they never knew it. Slater turned on his good side and lay with his head on her breast. His bandaged hand fumbled with the opening of her dress.

  “Help me,” he whispered huskily.

  With trembling fingers, she opened her bodice and pressed his cheek to the soft skin of her breast. His lips kissed the smooth flesh while she brushed the dark hair back from his face and pressed her mouth to his forehead. It was so good to hold him. So wonderful to have the heavy burden lifted from her heart.

  Long habits of concern are hard to forget, and she asked softly, “John Austin? Is he all right?”

  “Fine,” he murmured against her neck. “Kid has brains he hasn’t used yet.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her. She wanted to talk now. She wanted to tell him everything.

  “Ellen said you could be hanged if anyone found out about us being together. She called it incest. I didn’t know what it meant.”

  “She had it all figured out. True to form right up to the last.”

  “Her only thoughts at the last were for Travis.” She shivered and tightened her arms protectingly. “It was terrible to see her lying there, dying, and talking about Sam and my mother.”

  “Sam once said that Ellen was more devil than woman. I guess he knew wh
at he was talking about.”

  Summer raised up suddenly, and Slater rolled over onto his back. She leaned over him so she could see his face.

  “Slater,” she said softly. Her fingers went over his lips, traced the scar that was familiar to them. “Slater, I’ve news to tell you. News that will make you understand why I had to leave you and why Jesse helped me.” She kissed his lips, his scarred cheek. Her eyes smiled into his. “We’ve got to see a preacher and get a ring on my finger before I get any bigger.” Her violet eyes searched his face. At first, there was nothing; then a smile that started at the corners of his lips spread into a broad grin. The forearm across her back gripped her tightly, and it was his turn to whisper.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive!” Her eyes devoured his face.

  “Don’t that beat all?” He couldn’t seem to stop grinning. When the shock had passed, he put an arm behind her head to pull her to him. “Damn these hands! I want to touch you, feel you.”

  Her laugh was a soft purr of pure happiness. “I’ll touch you, feel you.”

  “We’ll stop in Hamilton, love. That preacher will have to come out to the wagon. I’m marrying you tomorrow!”

  “I don’t have a new dress,” she teased.

  “You don’t need one,” he growled. “Hush your talking, woman, and lay here beside me . . . close to me. God, how I’ve missed you!”

  “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  “You’ll hurt me a hell of a lot more if you don’t. Come kiss me some more, sweetheart. Come kiss me and tell me you love me.” He nudged her hand until it lay on his chest. “Touch me,” he whispered, his heartbeat quickening.

  She tremblingly traced the powerful lines of his chest, being careful to avoid his wounds, aware of that fast, deep heartbeat, hearing it accelerate as her fingers stroked the short black hair curling from his brown skin. Leaning her face against him, she let her lips drift down his body, the taste of warm, moist skin on her tongue and in her mouth. His body quivered and she became aware of the movement of his thigh against her. The heat of their bodies had become explosive, and she stopped her stroking hands.

  “Don’t stop!” His voice was muffled as his lips probed her warm white breast, and Summer felt herself shuddering as she faced a decision.

  “We must! Darling, we must stop! Jack and . . . Bulldog. . . .”

  For a moment, he lay still, breathing in rough gasps, his body seemed to shiver, then he drew back his head and smiled into her eyes. Wild, sweet hunger caused them to move together and their mouths clung in a long kiss. It was a while before either of them was calm enough to talk again.

  “You’re sure there’s something there? Something of you and me?” Slater’s bandaged hand gently nudged her flat stomach.

  She laughed. It was so wonderful to laugh.

  “I’m sure. Of course I’m sure. A few days ago, I hated the poor little thing. Now, I love it.”

  “Not more than me?” His lips were against her face, his tone anxious.

  “Never more than you, darling.” She slipped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. “I adored you when I was a little girl and I still do. You’re my everything—my heart, my soul, my life. I love you beyond everything else in the world.”

  His lips crushed hers hungrily. “I want to love you! Dear God, how I want to love you! These damn hands . . . it’ll be so long. . . .”

  “Not so long, darling,” she whispered. “Only until tomorrow, when you fetch me home like you promised so long ago.” She punctuated her words with soft, nibbling kisses. “We’ll manage. You’ll see. We’ll manage just fine.”