The Cowboy's Ready-Made Family (16 page)

Susanne shrugged. “I don't consider it a loss.”

Tanner remained in the corner, not wanting Susanne to know he'd overheard her.

The door slapped as a boy of about fourteen rushed in. Tanner followed on his heels as if he'd entered at the same time. He hoisted the bag of flour and grabbed a handful of other things and returned to the buggy. As soon as he loaded the supplies he leaned against the wheel and gathered his thoughts.

She had defended him. Stood up to three highfalutin ladies to do so. Did she really mean what she said? He knew she did and it left him struggling to think what it meant.

The door creaked open and the children rushed out. “We're going to the post office,” Robbie yelled. He skidded to a stop. “What's the post office?”

Tanner laughed. It was hard to get lost in thought with the children around, and he welcomed the diversion.

Susanne stood framed by the closed door. “It's where we get letters.” She seemed to be waiting for something.

He was about to ask what when she tipped her head.

“Are you coming? There might be mail for the ranch.”

He sprang to her side. “I need to check.” Pa had ordered him to do so. They passed the lawyer's office and the hotel and stopped in front of a small wooden structure where the Stars and Stripes billowed in the wind.

The children were ahead of them and stopped at the sign to wait.

He and Susanne led the way in. Frank and Liz waited by the wicket as Susanne requested the mail. Janie clung to Susanne's side. Robbie found a chair that swiveled and spun around in it.

Mr. Wigley, the postmaster, cleared his throat.

Tanner joined Susanne at the wicket. “Mail for the ranch, please.”

Mr. Wigley didn't reach for any but scowled in Robbie's general direction.

Susanne realized what he meant and pulled Robbie from the chair.

Only then did Tanner receive the handful of letters—three addressed to hired cowboys, the rest to Pa and Maisie. Susanne received a few magazines. He couldn't tell if she got any letters.

When they left the building, Liz confronted Robbie. “That man did not like you spinning his chair. You shouldn't have done that.”

“It was fun.”

“Mr. Wigley objected,” Tanner added.

“Mr. Wigley?” Robbie stared at Tanner in disbelief.

“That's his name.”

“A wiggly man.” Robbie laughed so hard he set the other children laughing.

Tanner looked at Susanne and shook his head. “What are we to do with them?”

The children tried to stop but failed.

She grinned. “Maybe if we feed them?”

“To whom shall we feed them?” he asked.

That set the children off into more helpless giggles.

Janie suddenly grew serious. “Would you feed us to someone?”

He scooped her up. “Not a chance, though you are about sweet enough to eat.” He tickled her as they made their way back to the wagon.

He helped Susanne aboard though he did not swing her into the air for fear someone would see and misjudge his action. He had no wish to bring any more criticism down around her head. “Wait a minute. I've got something to do.” He trotted into the store and made his purchase, then took his place beside Susanne. He glanced back to the children. “Who would like to go on a picnic?”

His question was answered with cheers.

He knew the perfect place. The creek, a river at this point, curled around and passed the town on one side. It was a pleasant spot where they'd be alone to enjoy a picnic.

Right now he glanced over his shoulder at the buildings. He couldn't help it. He was eager to get out of town, away from people who could be watching and, more importantly, judging.

* * *

Susanne tried to think when she'd ever enjoyed a day more. Not, she decided, since her parents had died and she was but an innocent child. The drive to town had been fun and relaxing—no demands, no expectations that she should be doing something else.

At the store, she'd liked having the freedom to purchase the supplies she needed without Aunt Ada pinching every penny. Seeing the children laugh so freely outside the post office was the icing on her cake of joy.

Only one thing marred the day ever so slightly. The three women's cruel comments about Tanner. It eased her mind some that he hadn't overheard them. She'd tried to respond graciously and politely when she wanted nothing more than to put them in their place. Tanner was a noble, good man.

How often had the likes of those women said things to make him think otherwise?

Well, he needn't believe them. Their opinion mattered not at all.

Tanner stopped the wagon at a place he'd declared perfect. She had to agree. The nearby river gurgled in the background, and thick trees sheltered them from the town. As the children ran off to explore and release some of their energy, she spread a quilt on the grassy spot and looked about. “It's very nice here.”

She wanted to look into Tanner's eyes but feared doing so would make her forget the children, the picnic and anything else she should be thinking of.

Tanner brought the boxes from the buggy and set them by the quilt. “Did you get everything you needed at the store?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her words felt stilted as she tried to keep from looking at him.

“Good.” She could feel his waiting silence.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She concentrated on taking out the sandwiches and cookies.

“Are you concerned about what those ladies said?”

His question brought her to her feet to face him.

“I was there,” he said. “I heard every word.”

The tips of her ears burned. Not with embarrassment but with regret that he'd heard the conversation. She grabbed his arms. “Then you heard what I said.”

He nodded. “Thank you for defending me.”

She studied his eyes, saw the caution there just as she heard the flatness of his words. “Did you think I defended you out of duty or obligation? I thought we were past that.”

“They were right about one thing. Associating with me will mark you in an unpleasant way.”

“Then I guess it's a good thing I live so far from town. Even if I didn't, their opinion is of no importance to me.”

He held her gaze though doubts lingered in his eyes. She had to convince him she was sincere. “My aunt Ada was a proper lady who had her rightful place in society and look how she treated me. If that is what it means to have the approval of ladies such as those, then no thanks. One thing I learned from her was that people need to be treated fairly and kindly. If you can't believe that of me, then—”

She stepped away, her heart burning that he would think her the least bit like those three women or even Aunt Ada.

He touched her arm, stopped her flight. “I don't believe you are the least bit like those women, but I'm not sure you should have defended me.”

“I would be remiss not to.”

She spun around and their gazes collided. She meant what she said and she could tell he believed her. For now. How many more times would this come up and make him wonder? It didn't matter. She wasn't about to change her mind; nor would she stand by while someone said cruel things about him.

The children raced back. “I'm hungry,” Robbie yelled. Someday she meant to teach him to talk in a normal tone of voice but not yet. If yelling made him feel better then he could yell.

“First we pray.” She looked to Tanner to say grace.

He blinked. Why would he be surprised that she asked? Because he didn't think God approved of him? Surely he was beginning to see that God had created him in love. And after visiting the trees that were like a cathedral he could not doubt God's nearness.

Then he nodded. “Father God, the great provider. Thank You for blessing us with this food. Amen.”

She tucked a smile into her heart. For a man who claimed not to feel God cared, he certainly knew how to talk to Him. Perhaps she could direct his thoughts to God's love and care.

He sank to the ground at her side and she passed around the food.

The children ate hurriedly so they could return to the trees to play. Before they left, Tanner gave them each a piece of candy, which earned him four hugs.

When they were gone, she leaned back and looked at him. “I meant to tell you that I really enjoyed visiting the cathedral of the trees.”

“Me, too. And now it has a name.” He chuckled as if the idea pleased him.

“I can see why your mother considered it a special place. God seemed so close there. I needed the reminder that He is that close to me wherever I am.”

“Is He?”

“Pardon?”

“Is He that close wherever you are? For instance, when your aunt Ada was berating you, was He close then?”

She nodded. “There were times I forgot it was so but other times, when I remembered, I was comforted, even though my aunt was so cruel and cold.” She wanted to say more, to explain that God didn't change despite changing circumstances.

He looked toward the river. “I'm learning to believe God doesn't speak through the mouths of people like those women in the store.”

“I'm glad to hear that finally.” She touched his hand. “I know it must hurt, just like Aunt Ada's actions and words hurt me. But God's love for us never changes.”

Before she could gauge his reaction to her words, he bolted to his feet.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Robbie's by the river and I don't see any of the other children.” He was halfway to the water before he finished speaking and she scrambled after him, her heart thick as winter molasses. She had a healthy fear of water since her parents drowned.

“Robbie, stay away from the water,” he yelled.

Robbie looked over his shoulder. “I am.” But his feet told a different story. He'd been about to step on a rock sticking out of the water.

Tanner reached him first and scooped him up.

Susanne rushed to Tanner's side. “Robbie, what were you doing?” She patted him all over to be certain he was okay.

“I wasn't going to get hurt. I just want that shiny rock.” He pointed to the one he meant.

She took him from Tanner, gripped his arms and gave him a little shake. “You must never go into a river, you hear?”

He nodded.

“Now go back to the buggy and wait.” Her limbs shook, as did her voice, revealing just how frightened she'd been.

The other children gathered round.

“Take your brother to the buggy,” Tanner said, though his eyes never wavered from Susanne.

When they were back at the picnic area and she began to put things away, he stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders to still her.

“Susanne, are you okay?”

Her eyes felt too wide. She couldn't blink. Couldn't form a rational thought. “What if he drowned?”

“He didn't. He's okay.”

She rocked her head back and forth. “He could have. Just like my parents.” A shudder shook her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, then settled into the pit of her stomach. “I hate water.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I can see why. But Robbie is okay and there is no water near the farm so you don't need to fret.”

She hugged her arms about her. “I know but that fact doesn't make me any less fearful.” She tried to laugh, the sound coming out as more of a wail.

He pulled her closer, his hands firm on her arms. If he would wrap her close, press her to his heart, her fear might subside. But they were not alone. She glanced past him to the children by the buggy and beyond them to the houses and businesses of Granite Creek. Not that she cared what the good folk of the town might think, but she did care how her actions would affect him and the children.

“I'm okay,” she managed, but she could not force herself to move away from his touch.

But he'd seen her look toward town and dropped his hand. “We need to start back.”

They packed up and were soon on their way back home. She breathed deeply and prayed silently for the gripping fear to end.

A flash of lightning jerked her from her thoughts. Dark clouds rolled and twisted overhead. Thunder echoed down the hills and pounded inside her heart. “We're getting a storm.” Her voice squeaked from her tight throat.

“I'm hoping we beat it home.” Tanner sounded calm but perhaps only because he sensed her fear.

She shivered in the wind that had turned suddenly and drastically colder.

He pulled to a stop. “Put this around you.” He wrapped a woolen blanket about her shoulders, then covered the children with a fur robe.

“Are we going to drown?” Janie asked.

“Of course not,” said Liz, trying to sound brave.

Tanner faced the children. “A little rain never hurt anyone. The worst that can happen is we get wet.”

Susanne clamped her teeth tight and still they chattered, though not from cold. Tanner was wrong. Rain could hurt people. It could cause flash floods and people could drown.

Chapter Fifteen

T
anner darted a glance to the west where the rain came down in sheets. If only he could get them home before the storm reached them. Susanne still shuddered every few minutes from the fright Robbie had given her playing so close to the river.

He kept the horses to a steady pace knowing they could not gallop the entire distance.

Lightning slashed across the sky. He counted the seconds before the thunder clapped. Ten. The storm was still a long ways off. But every flash, every rumble caused Susanne to jolt.

They reached the ford across the creek.

Susanne stared at the dark waters. “It's higher than when we came.”

It was but only marginally. It wouldn't be long, though, before the waters from up the mountain rushed down and made the creek rise. He kept his thoughts to himself as he guided the horses across the rocky ford.

Susanne sat white-knuckled.

“Robbie!” Liz's voice jerked his attention from the rocky path to the children.

Robbie had slipped from the shelter of the fur robe and leaned dangerously far out looking at the water.

He grabbed the boy and set him back in the seat.

Frank wrapped the robe around him.

Robbie jammed his arms over his chest and glowered at them all. “I only want to see the gold. It's there, you know.”

The buggy tilted to one side. Tanner grabbed the reins and pulled the horses back to the rocky roadbed.

Susanne keened softly. He pulled her to his side and pressed her close. “You're okay. You're safe.” He held her until the horses pulled the buggy to shore. “We're across. We'll soon be home.”

They followed the trail for several miles and she kept her eyes on the creek beside them even though the sight of the water obviously frightened her.

The wind increased in velocity. Lightning flashed and the time until the thunder echoed grew shorter. Moisture filled the air. He flicked the reins to hurry the horses along. If only they could make it home before the rain came.

He cupped his hand to Susanne's head and pressed her face to the hollow of his shoulder so she couldn't look at the water. “Liz, Frank, what was that hymn you sang the Sunday I was there when you were having church? Why don't you sing it for us?”

The children sang loudly, but the wind carried their voices away.

Finally they left the creek and turned toward the farm and Susanne began to relax.

When Tanner pulled up to the house, Frank unwrapped the children and he and Liz helped the little ones down and then carried in the things Susanne had purchased. The wild horses whinnied and raced about the enclosure, frightened by the storm. He could do little about it at the moment and hoped they would not injure themselves.

Susanne clung to Tanner. He hated to let her go, but as soon as his feet hit the ground he lifted her down and carried her inside.

He barely made it through the door when the skies opened.

He set Susanne on her feet. She clung to him, her eyes much too wide.

“It's raining.”

He nodded. “Yes, it is, and that's good news for your garden and crop.”

She barely acknowledged his words. “What if we'd gotten caught in it and had to cross the creek?” Her thin voice quavered.

“We didn't but even if we were still out there, we'd get wet. That's all.”

Her gaze clung to him, full of disbelief.

“Auntie, are you scared?” Robbie asked.

The boy's words made her draw in a shuddering breath and Tanner could see her shoulders relax. “I'm okay now. Why don't you children change?”

The sound of the frightened horses carried on the wind.

“Will you be okay if I go check on the animals?” Tanner asked.

She scrubbed her lips together. “It's just rain.” As if to prove her wrong, lightning turned the world outside to silvery white. A few seconds later, thunder shook the house. She shuddered.

“I'll stay.” He'd turn the whole herd loose if it would erase the fear from her face.

She closed her eyes, perhaps in prayer, then sucked in a deep breath. “We're safe and dry inside. You do what you need to do.”

“I'll be back in a minute.” He pulled his hat low and ran into the rain to the corrals. The horses milled about, the whites of their eyes showing large. If only he'd spent more time with them since he brought them in, perhaps they'd be comforted by his presence. Nevertheless, he swung over the top plank and sat down. Not knowing what else to do, and aware it was the method many cowboys used to calm a herd of cows, he began to sing an old trail song. “‘Whoopie ti yi yo, get along little dogies.'” He raised his voice as loud as he could.

It worked. The horses slowly settled down. The lightning moved down the hills away from them and the thunder grew more distant. The rain settled into a gentle patter.

He stopped singing and waited to see if the horses would grow agitated again. They didn't. He slipped to the ground and dashed across the muddy yard to the house.

Susanne stood in the same spot where he'd left her, facing the door. She exhaled loudly when he came in. “Is everything okay?”

“Right as—” He was about to say
rain
, which would have been the normal word to use. “Sunshine.”

Recognizing the change in his word choice, she smiled. “You're soaked.” She handed him a towel.

“I'll dry. But I'm dripping all over the floor.”

“It's just water.” She tipped her head and considered him. “Did I hear someone singing?”

“I don't know. Did you?” No one had ever suggested he had a musical voice and he was somewhat embarrassed that she'd heard him.

“Ti yi yi,” Robbie shouted. “You was singing to the horses.”

He turned and saw the children sitting at the table. “They seemed to like it.”

“Me, too.” Robbie ran around the kitchen, half singing, half shouting “Ti yi yi” over and over.

Susanne uncrossed her arms and threw back her head as she laughed at Robbie.

For the first time since the storm had approached, the tension eased from Tanner's nerves.

They watched Robbie for a few moments. But Tanner's jeans were heavy with water and every time he moved his head, water dripped from his hat. “The storm has moved off and I better move off, as well.”

She met his gaze. “Thank you for everything.”

His eyebrows went up. “Everything?”

A smile teased her worried eyes. “The trip to town, getting us home safely and all that.”

“My pleasure.” More so than she would ever guess. “Goodbye.”

The children clustered about him to say goodbye. Susanne stood in the open doorway as he returned to the buggy. “Goodbye,” she called as he grabbed the reins. Reluctantly, he turned the buggy toward the ranch. He paused once to turn and wave and once more just before he rode out of sight.

She remained in the doorway watching.

That simple little fact warmed him all the way home.

* * *

Finally. Tanner was heading to the farm to work with his horses. He greeted the children, who ran toward him as he approached the house, but his eyes sought Susanne. He saw no sign of her. Was she ill? Had the storm yesterday given her a chill? “Where's your aunt?”

“In the barn.” Frank pointed. “Trying to put a handle on a hoe. She's been trying for a long time but the hoe keeps falling off. She told us to go away because she was getting frustrated.”

Tanner chuckled. “I'll go see how she's faring.”

The children began to follow.

“Maybe you should stay back just in case.”

Janie's lips trembled. “Is she going to get into trouble?”

He scooped up the child. “No, you little sweetheart, she isn't in trouble. But like Frank said, she might be a little frustrated.”

Liz leaned close and whispered in his ear, “She was really, really frustrated. Said she might take the sledgehammer to the whole works. Then she said she couldn't because it was the only hoe she could find.”

The grin that widened Tanner's mouth came from a place deep in his heart. “I'll see what I can do.” What had happened to the other hoe they'd used when planting the garden? He knew the answer. One of the children had used it for something and not returned it. He'd look for it later.

He put Janie on her feet and strode into the barn. In the tack room that Frank had organized Susanne was bent over an anvil, a hammer in her hand. Strands of hair fell over her face as she tapped the sleeve of the hoe around the wooden handle. He stood back and watched her, enjoying the scene far more than he should.

She lifted the hoe, banged it on the floor. The handle and the head parted ways. “What is wrong with you?” she said in an exasperated tone. “Why don't you stay together?”

“Maybe I can help?”

She squeaked and turned to him. “You frightened me. I didn't know you were here.” Her eyes narrowed. “How long have you been standing there?”

He stepped into the little room and took the handle from her. “Long enough to see you need a lesson in putting a handle on a hoe.” He decided it best not to ask how it got loose in the first place.

“It
looks
easy enough.” She scooped up the head of the hoe and scowled at the offending tool.

“It's not difficult once you know what to do.” He measured the shank on the head of the hoe, cut the tip of the handle so it would fit in properly, then jammed it into the hoe. “See these two holes? They're for securing the handle.” He found two nails, pounded them through the holes and shook the hoe. “There. That's good and firm. Now I'll sharpen it for you.” He took it to the grinder and sharpened the edge. “There you go.”

She took it, jabbed at the floor and crowed with delight when it didn't fall apart. “Thank you. And about yesterday...” She leaned on the hoe and looked at him with a regretful expression. “I'm sorry to have made such a fuss about nothing.”

“It wasn't nothing. You were frightened. I understand that.”

“I can't seem to get over it even though I tell myself I'm being silly.”

He brushed his knuckles along her cheeks, reveling in the smoothness of them. He caught a strand of runaway hair and tucked it behind her ear. “You have every reason to be afraid of water.”

Her eyes clung to his with such hungry intensity that his hands grew still and he forgot to breathe. “I don't want to pass my fear on to the children.”

What could he say? It wasn't as if her fears were irrational. He spoke the only words that came to his mind. “What do you think of when you see the waters of a river?”

“I think of what the people said who came to inform me that my mama and papa had drowned. They said the dark, turbulent waters had sucked them under. And I feel myself being sucked under.”

“What would happen if you looked at something besides the waters?”

“Like what?”

“Well, the sun won't be shining if it's raining out.” He thought of his own life. “When I was younger I used to touch the yoke of my ma's dress and it would drive away my fears. Do you have anything like that?”

“I have my mother's brooch.”

“Would it work to think of that instead of the waters?”

“I don't know. I could try. I'm willing to try anything.”

That settled and the hoe repaired, they headed for the door. The children still waited outside, each wearing an anxious expression. Liz studied her aunt, and when she saw the hoe in her hands, her face broke into a grin. “I guess it's okay to talk to you now.”

Susanne hugged the child. “I'm sorry if I was short with you. Fixing a hoe handle is easy if you know how.”

“Are you going to work on the horses now?” Frank asked. He jiggled from one foot to the other as if he couldn't wait for Tanner to get started.

“That's my plan.”

“Can we watch?”

The horses were already used to the children so he couldn't see it would be a problem. “Sure.”

He expected Susanne to object or to wander off with the repaired hoe, but she leaned it against the barn and joined the children at the fence. Unlike the children she watched him, not the horses, making the muscle in his legs move with awkward stiffness as he climbed into the pen. He tried not to be aware of her attention, knowing he needed to be completely focused on his task.

He meant to gentle-break the horses, teaching them to trust him and then obey him because of that trust. He'd work with them one-on-one, which meant guiding each one in turn into the smaller pen that Jim had built for that purpose. Pretty Lady was the most likely one to cooperate so he started with her, working her around and into the pen. She already associated him with food so he used it to get the horse to come to him.

All morning he worked at gentling and teaching the horse.

At noon, Susanne brought out some dinner even though he didn't expect it now that he was not working for her. But he sure did appreciate it. Almost as much as he enjoyed her company while he ate.

He worked all afternoon, pausing only to gratefully accept a drink of cold water and a handful of cookies, then resuming work until he knew he must leave or worry Maisie about being late.

When he went to the house to say goodbye, all he could think about was saying hello in the morning.

After a restless night he returned to continue working with Pretty Lady. Already she ate from his hand and let him pet her.

At noon, when Susanne brought him food, he climbed over the fence and sat against the barn with her at his side. “I saw you out in the garden. How's it looking?” He'd watched there, knew when she stopped to go inside to make dinner and waited eagerly for her to bring something out to him. He counted the seconds, which had mysteriously grown long and plodding.

“Little seedlings are popping through everywhere. And weeds, too, of course. I'm making good use of the hoe. I think of you every time I chop out a weed.” She slanted him a look so full of teasing and something more that he choked.