The Cowboy's Ready-Made Family (9 page)

Susanne would not justify his remarks with a response.

After a moment he cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can go for a little walk.”

She nodded. “I'll call the children.”

“Never mind. That's not what I had in mind.”

How well she knew it. “Then I'm afraid I must decline your invitation.” All she wanted was for him to leave, so she stood ill at ease in the middle of the yard and made no effort to be hospitable.

As soon as they saw him, the children had ceased their play and disappeared behind some bushes. “I must check on the children.”

He caught her arm, making escape impossible.

Ice flowed up her veins and she jerked away. “Have a care.”

He showed not a speck of repentance for what he'd done. “Susanne—”

She'd rebuke him for freely using her name but didn't want to listen to his arguments. No doubt he would tell her that if she'd simply agree to marry him he'd have the right to use her name. No doubt, he'd think he also had the right to order her about as he pleased. Only because she knew there was no point in saying anything did she refrain from chastising him.

“You know you can't manage this farm,” he told her. “You can barely manage the children. What about your crop?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the field. His gaze went there, too, and his jaw dropped. “You've started plowing?'

Let him make whatever assumption he wished.

He shook his head sadly. “That is not woman's work. Stop being so foolish and stubborn. Marry me and move into town. I'd certainly never expect you to plow.”

She gave him a long, hard study. “I'm sure you'd have some expectations.”

A feral gleam came into his eyes. She'd seen the same look on Mr. Befus's face just before Aunt Ada had left them alone in the parlor, just before the man had tried to exert his ownership over her body. She shuddered.

“I would expect you to be a good wife. Fair enough trade for providing you with a pleasant home.”

“I'm sure.” He'd never understand the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “However, as I've said before, I intend to keep the farm. It belongs to the children. It's their future.”

His brows practically knit together. Strange how they were so bushy when his head was so bald.

As he spoke she'd shifted from foot to foot and looked over her shoulder many times, hoping he would think she had pressing concerns in the house and take himself home. But he stood as solid as a stubborn boulder in the middle of a field. And he talked.

She'd never known anyone—man or woman—who could use so many words to say so little. She stopped listening almost as soon as he started.

“Did I tell you?”

Her attention jerked back to him. “Tell me what?”

“Mother is coming to live with me...with us.”

Susanne shuddered. There would never be
us
. Why couldn't he understand that?

“She can't wait to meet you. She's not well, you know, and will require care.”

“Care? Really? Are you hiring a nurse?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “No need. I'm sure you can manage quite nicely.”

If she was bigger and had fewer manners, she would have physically removed him from the place. Instead, she drew herself up tall and straight. “Mr. Morris, I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to care for your mother. As you so often point out, I have my hands full with the children and I have absolutely no intention of marrying you. Good day to you.” She lifted her skirts from the dust, marched into the house and slammed the door.

She waited to hear the horse ride away, but the sound didn't come. Had she missed it? Listening carefully, she jumped two feet when a knock sounded on the door.

“Susanne, we need to talk.”

“Mr. Morris, we do not need to talk. Please go away.” What if he insisted on coming in? She looked about for something to protect herself with and edged toward the stove and the sturdy poker.

“Fine, if that's how you want to be.” A silent moment passed, as if he held his breath as hard as she held hers. “But I'm not prepared to accept your rejection. I understand you expect to be courted. I'm a patient man.”

Her heart thundered in her ears as she waited for him to leave.

Finally his footsteps thudded away and she collapsed into a chair. But not until the horse clopped from the yard could she breathe without the air catching in her chest.

The door flew open and the children rushed in.

Robbie scrambled to her lap. “Frank said we would chase the man away if he didn't go.”

She smiled at Frank. “Thank you.” Good to know he was prepared to defend her. If Mr. Morris persisted, she might be in need of his help. She closed her eyes a second. Mr. Morris wanted a nursemaid for his mother. Did he suppose “rescuing” her from the farm would obligate her to fulfill that role? How could she persuade the persistent man that she had no desire whatsoever to be rescued, much less obligated to anyone?

To think, just before Mr. Morris knocked, she'd been thinking how lonely she felt. How she ached to be viewed by Tanner as something more than a business deal. Mr. Morris's visit had reminded her that she must not let those feelings influence how she spoke and acted with Tanner. She'd come perilously close to doing so earlier in the day when he visited.

She hugged Robbie so tightly he squirmed. “Auntie Susanne, I can't breathe.”

It took a great deal of effort to loosen her arms. Seemed she needed something, someone to hold.

She opened her arms to the other children and pulled them into one big hug.

Her arms were full. Her heart was full. And she was free to choose her own way. Taking care of the children, protecting them and maintaining her freedom constituted all she wanted.

All she'd ever want.

She needed to remember that. Especially around Tanner.

Even after he got the crop in the ground, he'd still be on the farm working with his horses. Not for the first time she wondered what she'd gotten herself into. Somehow she had to keep her emotions and reactions under control.

No matter what Tanner Harding said or did.

Chapter Eight

Y
ou aren't a mistake.
The words went round and round in his head. He wished she meant it as more than a truth she believed from the Bible.

God regretted making some men. Isn't that what the Bible said about the people in Noah's day? Tanner stubbornly refused to acknowledge the flaw in his reasoning—that their horrible sins and refusal to repent had led to their destruction.

Do you know what else I see?
He didn't want to know what she meant to say, although a childish part of him longed for words of approval. There was no reason to expect that's what she had in mind. Could be she meant to say he belonged somewhere else.

He was too big a coward to risk hearing the words.

He galloped up one hill and down the next with no mind to his destination until the wind had blown away some of the tangles in his brain. He slowed down. Time to give Scout a break.

The discussion with Susanne had brought a sweet memory of his ma. How close he'd felt to her and to God that day as they worshipped in the trees.

He looked about. Without planning it, he had ridden to the valley where those trees still stood. He reined in and stared at the spot.

Did the branches still form an arched canopy overhead?

Would God still feel as close as He had back then?

There was only one way to find out. He could get off Scout and find the path leading to the inner sanctuary of the trees. His ma's faith called him. Susanne's assurance of God's love strengthened him.

Do you know what else I see?

Instead of dismounting, he nudged Scout forward, urged him into a gallop and raced away from the spot.

* * *

The next morning he rushed through breakfast.

“Anxious to visit the Collins place?” Levi asked in his seemingly innocent voice.

“Got to finish the plowing so I can get at the horses.”

“Yup. I would be, too,” Johnny said, and Tanner's brothers looked at each other and laughed.

Big Sam asked for the jam. “You'll have your hands full all summer.”

For some silly reason that struck Johnny and Levi as funny and they laughed again.

“He's already got his hands full,” Levi said when he'd sobered enough to speak.

Maisie gave the three of them loving looks, then her brow furrowed. “I can't help but worry about the propriety of the situation.”

“Don't you worry, girl. Tanner would never do anything to damage her reputation,” Big Sam said, and earned himself a look of such love that Tanner turned his attention to his plate.

Maisie, with her dark blond hair and light brown eyes, Maisie, with her honey-colored skin and honey-flavored voice, would never acknowledge that, simply by speaking to Susanne, Tanner posed a threat. Not because he was a man but because of the fact that he was a half-breed.

“Just bear in mind her reputation,” Maisie said.

“I've never forgotten it.” Though to be completely honest he might have for a few seconds while standing at the corrals with her yesterday.
You aren't a mistake.
He'd wanted to believe it even though he understood she didn't necessarily mean it as he took it. She likely didn't mean she herself felt that way about him...only that she believed God did.

He slowed his eating lest anyone think there was more to his hurry than the plowing.

The others finished while he still had half a cup of coffee left.

“Come on, brother,” Johnny said. “There's work to be done.”

Tanner gulped the rest of his coffee and followed his brothers to the barn. Big Sam, Johnny and Levi were riding out to check on the new calves. Tanner was careful to make sure he took longer saddling up than they did. He waved goodbye to them, then finished the task in seconds. He kept Scout to a gentle canter until he knew no one from the ranch could see him, then urged him into a gallop.

His only reason was to exercise Scout. He had no reason to hurry other than to get the crop in before it rained so he could, as he said, work with the horses.

He slowed as the farm came in sight. Sheets billowed on the line. Next to the house, Susanne had her sleeves rolled up past her elbows and was bent over a washtub, scrubbing something. He sat back to enjoy the scene.

Then he shifted his gaze to find the children. They sat huddled together a few feet from Susanne. Something about their posture sent tension into his spine. He leaned forward. Was Robbie crying and was Liz trying to comfort him?

Within seconds Scout carried him forward in a gallop. As soon as he reached the yard, he jumped from the horse, his feet at a run.

Robbie looked at him, his eyes full of tears.

Remembering his promise, Tanner called a general good morning, then hunkered down before Robbie. “What's the matter?”

“I—I—” The boy couldn't choke the words out.

“He losted his marble,” Janie said, a sob following her words.

Tanner's heart tightened, knowing how precious something was when it came from a dead parent. He had only to touch the yoke of his mother's dress to be filled with pleasant memories.

Robbie sniffed. “It's gone.”

“But you'll find it.” It surprised him that Susanne showed so little concern.

As if reading his mind, she shook the water from her hands and stood beside him. “We've looked everywhere.”

Tanner pushed upright. “Then we'll look again.”

She met his look, her expression going from discouragement to hope before she closed her eyes. When she reopened them, caution and refusal filled her eyes. “It's not necessary for you to help. You'll want to get the plowing done.”

“His marble is important.”

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead as if weary of the subject. His eyes went to the sheets on the line. How early had she started the laundry that six sheets already billowed in the breeze? Maybe she was weary because of her work.

“I'll make sure Pat has enough feed and while he eats, we'll have a look.” He didn't give her a chance to oppose him but trotted to the barn. The children scrambled to their feet and followed him.

“When did you first notice it was gone?” he asked Robbie.

“This morning. I put my hand in my pocket—” Robbie illustrated. “But no marble.” He pulled his hands out to show him they were empty.

“Is there a hole in your pocket?”

Robbie's hands went back to his pocket. He felt around. Then shook his head. “No holes.”

Tanner threw another scoop of oats into the manger for Pat, who remained placidly unconcerned as the children gathered round him. “Did you have it yesterday?”

Robbie's brow knotted. “I don't remember.”

Tanner looked to the others. “Did any of you see him playing with it?”

They shook their heads as their eyes locked on him, full of trust and expectation. They counted on him to find it. It was a mighty big responsibility. The marble could have fallen anywhere. How could he hope to find it?

“Where have you looked?”

The four of them talked at once. Seems they'd looked in the house, in the barn, in the garden, under the trees.

“Not many places left, are there?”

They shook their heads. Already he'd disappointed them.

“Let me think. There has to be some clue. Robbie, when do you last remember having it?”

His forehead furrowed like an old man's. Then he brightened. “I remember,” he shouted. “I had it in my hand when that old Mr. Morris came. Then we went and hid in the bushes.”

Mr. Morris had come again? Was he courting Susanne? Tanner's gaze went to the doorway. He blinked at Susanne standing there. He hadn't heard her join them. With surprise—and something he didn't care to analyze or admit—he met her cool blue eyes. Was her silent look meant to inform him it was none of his business who came calling? He tipped his head in acknowledgment. It
was
none of his business and none of his concern.

He shifted back to Robbie. “Did you have it when you were in the bushes?”

Robbie's bottom lip trembled. “I not remember.”

Feeling overwhelmed by the boy's distress, Tanner's gaze went again to Susanne. She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness and her eyes looked wet. Tanner's lungs froze. The whole family was on the verge of tears and he feared he would not handle it well if they all started sobbing.

“Show me where you were when Mr. Morris came.” He reached for Robbie's hand. It was small and warm in his big paw. Robbie shuffled toward the tree by the garden.

“There.” He pointed.

“What bushes did you go into?”

He indicated the ones several feet beyond the tree.

If Robbie had dropped the marble as the children hurried away, it might have bounced or rolled away. Tanner studied the lay of the land. A marble wouldn't roll through grass but—his eyes narrowed—if it happened to land on a bare spot... There was such a bit of ground not ten feet away. He went to it and bent over, combed his fingers through the dirt. He touched something round and smooth. Could it be?

“Robbie, check this out.”

Robbie had followed hard on his heels, as had the others. “Did you find it?”

“Can't say for sure. But there's something here.”

Robbie scrambled forward on his hands and knees and pawed through the dirt. With a whoop of joy, he lifted his marble. “I found it!”

The children gathered around him, and Tanner leaned back, as pleased as any of them.

Susanne came to his side, wiping her eyes. He dared not look at her for fear that seeing her tears would undo him completely. “I owe you for this,” she said.

Tanner felt his muscles tighten. Owe? Was everything about payback with this lady? “You needn't worry. You are under no obligation.” He strode away to get Pat.

The children hurried after him, surrounding him so he couldn't move. “Thank you,” they all chimed.

“You're welcome.” He hugged each of them, feeling Susanne's gaze on him the whole time. Why couldn't she be like the children and accept the act for what it was—a kindness, not an obligation?

* * *

Susanne returned to her neglected laundry tub and kept her back to Tanner as he took Pat to the field to plow. She scrubbed the girls' dresses hard enough she risked leaving holes in the fabric. She wrung the dresses to within an inch of death, but her efforts did little to ease her mind.

She'd unintentionally offended Tanner. She'd meant her words to indicate gratitude and he'd taken them to mean regret.

She arched her back to relieve the tension from bending over. If she was truthful she had harbored a little bit of regret, wondering where his actions belonged in her balance ledger.

Under no obligation, he said. But she was. She had agreed for him to use the corrals but that cost her nothing. They stood idle; she had no use for them. He, on the other hand, would sacrifice days working her land and seeding her crop.

Her insides turned and rolled. She pressed a hand to her stomach and moaned. Would she never be free of the resentment she'd learned at Aunt Ada's? How many times had she listened to her aunt rail on about obligations and vowed she'd never allow herself to be in that position again? She knew this was different. So why didn't she
feel
it was?

God, help me. I am so trapped by my fear of being controlled by someone. Yet I must accept help. Tanner seems satisfied with our agreement. Why can't I be?

She fought the question as she washed the boys' trousers and hung them to dry. The fight continued as she dumped the water on the plants around the house. The battle raged as she prepared a meal for the children.

Should she take some food to Tanner? She knew Maisie packed him a lunch, but he had always seemed grateful for what she gave, as well.

What would she say to him? How could she explain when
she
didn't understand?

She fed the children, listened to their chatter though she heard not a word. Still Tanner did not stop for dinner. Would he stay out all day simply to avoid her?

She could hardly swallow the last of her food and washed it down with a glass of water.

As the minutes ticked past, her guilt shifted to worry. Something might be wrong. But when she glanced out the window Pat still moved forward with Tanner behind the plow. Neither of them appeared to be injured.

But something
was
wrong. And she must make it right.

“Children, I want you to stay here while I go see why Tanner hasn't come in. Liz, watch the little ones, please. And, please, stay in the house.” She did not want an audience to what she must do.

She donned her bonnet, tied it tight, wishing she could hide behind its protection. But hiding wouldn't fix this. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Sucking in air to fortify herself, she marched across the yard to the field.

He was halfway up the row. Close enough she could see his mouth tighten, but too far to see his eyes and hope for clues to his thoughts.

She waited.

He didn't rush Pat; nor did he pull him back. They plodded forward at a maddeningly slow pace. Now that she had made up her mind about what she must do, she wanted to get it done.

Finally he reached the end. He nodded a greeting but spoke not a word. Nor did she. She'd bide her time until she did what she must.

He unhitched Pat and drove him toward the barn.

She kept pace. “I fear I have offended you and that was not my intention.”

“Uh-huh.”

He was not going to make this easy. Not that she blamed him.

“I would like to say Aunt Ada is responsible for my bad behavior, but I can't. She isn't even here. Yes, she taught me that accepting favors carried a dear price. Do you know that she once gave me an old dress of hers? I had outgrown all of mine. The dress was out of style and inappropriate for my age, but I took it gratefully and remade it to fit. It looked quite fine, I thought. What did Aunt Ada do?”