The Cowboy's Ready-Made Family (13 page)

“He's not going to come,” Janie yelled. “'Cause you don't like him anymore.”

Susanne felt four pairs of eyes on her. “Is that what you think?” She meant all of them.

Liz shrugged. “Why are you still mad at him?”

“Mad? What makes you think I am?”

Frank spoke up. “That's what he thinks. He said we had to give you time to get over it.”

“I'm not angry at him. I never was.”

“Then why don't you talk to him?” Liz asked.

Why, indeed? To avoid embarrassing him? To prevent further humiliation if she should run to him for support and he not give it? To punish herself for wanting so much?

Whatever the reason, she knew what she had to do.

“I'll talk to him,” she promised, much to the delight of the children, who sighed and smiled.

Robbie returned to his perch at the window.

Susanne knew she wasn't the only one who held her breath waiting for his announcement. And it came almost at once.

“Here he comes.”

The children rushed outside to wait for him.

Susanne remained inside. She pressed her hand to her breastbone in a futile attempt to ease away the tightness that gripped her chest.
Dear Father in heaven, help me find a way to ease the strain between us without throwing myself into his arms.

She listened to him greet the children, then heard the sound of his footsteps thud toward the door. She opened it and her eyes filled with an unexpected sight. A huge bouquet of wildflowers—white daisies and bear grass, blue harebells, pink paintbrush and elephant head.

“For you.” He handed it to her.

She buried her face in the blossoms. It must have taken him an hour or more to pick all these. No wonder he was later than usual. “Thank you.” He'd done this for her and she was touched.

She'd practiced what she would say to him to explain she wasn't angry, but now she could think of nothing.

She glanced up and saw the uncertainty in his face and her heart went out to him. He feared rejection almost more than anything. How else would he interpret her withdrawal but as rejection? And yet he risked incurring more by bringing her this offering. Her tight throat made it impossible to say anything, but she must find a way to let him know she'd never hurt him.

“Thank you,” she said again. “They're lovely.”

“I wanted you to know—” He stopped.

“Yes? What did you want me to know?”

“About the other day. You know, about Janie and Charlie. I understand how upset you were. How upset we both were. But be assured I have no intention of reading more into things than that.”

She'd hugged him, leaned into his arms, gone to him for courage, strength and comfort. She'd found them all in his arms, and her heart had ached for more.

Tanner, though, had seen it as simply her being upset.

She should have been relieved at his words—she was not.

If there had been a physical wall between them he had just slammed shut the only door she could hope to go through.

To hide her disappointment, she again pressed her nose to the flowers. A bee escaped the confines of the bouquet, buzzing angrily. She squealed and tried to bat the insect away.

When it landed on her neck she turned toward Tanner. “Get it off.” Her voice was thin. “Ow. He stung me.”

Tanner grabbed the bee and squashed it in his palm, then wiped his hand on his trousers. “Let me have a look at that.”

The children rushed in. “We heard Auntie Susanne scream. What's wrong?”

“I'll take the flowers and put them in water,” Liz said, bending to gather up the dropped bouquet.

“Leave them.” Tanner scooped up the flowers and tossed them out the door. “There might be another bee in them. Your aunt got stung.” He returned to Susanne's side and gently lifted her hand from the spot where the bee had stung her. “Let me look at that.”

She tipped her head and exposed her neck. He trailed gentle fingers over the area. “No stinger. That's good. Liz, can you find me the baking soda?”

While Liz went to the cupboard for it, Tanner guided Susanne to a chair. She sat, her thoughts alternately frozen to a standstill at his touch and then a whirlwind of confusion at her reaction. A thousand wishes and dreams sprang to life. When had she stopped longing for love and belonging? When, and more importantly, why, had she decided neither were within her reach?

Liz brought the baking soda and with a little water he made a paste and applied it, his fingers massaging her neck, sending delightful tremors up and down her skin. How would it be to be touched in such a way for no reason—not because of a bee sting, not because of a fearful reaction—but simply because he wanted to touch her? She closed her eyes against the rush of emotion that left her shaken to the core.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded even as she forced back the overwhelming tide of longing and opened her eyes. “I'm just—” She couldn't finish. She cleared her throat before she started again. “I'm fine. It's just a little bee sting.”

The two youngest ones stared at her, their eyes wide, their mouths pursed in worry. She pulled them both to her.

“I don't like bees,” Janie said, a sob catching her final word.

Robbie clung to her. “Are you going to die?”

“Oh, sweet child. I'm not going to die from a bee sting.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and another to Janie's, then turned to the older children. They tried to hide their concern and failed.

Liz looked about ready to cry. “Are you mad at Tanner for bringing you flowers with a bee in them?” The question hung in the air, deadening every other thought, stealing the breath from everyone in the room.

Susanne looked into each child's worried gaze. She could speak to each of them or she could ease everyone's mind by speaking to Tanner. She faced him. “Tanner, I appreciate the flowers and your effort to ease things between us. I assure you I am not angry at you. I never was. I only—” She took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words. “I feared I had taken advantage of our friendship.”

His gaze held hers in a demanding, challenging manner.

She couldn't free herself from his look and was only vaguely aware that Frank and Liz took the younger children and went outside, pulling the door closed behind them.

He shifted his chair so they sat almost knee to knee. “Let's be clear about something. I did not think you were taking advantage of anything.” Their looks went on and on, past the recent events that had put a strain between them, past the two agreements they had made, past the time she had spent with Aunt Ada, perhaps right back to the time her parents were alive and she had been confident of being cherished, valued and loved.

Liz returned, a smaller bouquet in her hands. “I rescued these. Made sure there weren't any bees.” She filled a jar with water and arranged the flowers in it, then put them in the middle of the table.

Susanne looked at the bouquet. It seemed to signify something, though she wasn't prepared to say what it might be...or what she wished it might be. She looked again at Tanner and smiled.

A faint smile barely curved his mouth, but his eyes filled with a thousand stars.

Liz slipped out again.

Tanner's smile deepened and Susanne's heart opened to new possibilities.

He pushed to his feet. “I need to get the crop in.”

She stood, too. “Thanks for the flowers and everything.” The word ended breathlessly.

“I hope the sting won't bother you.”

She'd already forgotten it. Though the memory of his touch was seared permanently in her brain. She brushed her hand to the back of her neck. “I barely feel it.” Her nape tingled with the memory of other fingers there.

“Until later?”

She nodded, liking that his question sounded like a promise. “Until later.”

Chapter Twelve

T
he flowers were meant to put her at ease. Tanner wasn't sure he'd accomplished that. They seemed to have cleared the air, but then, he suspected, she was uncomfortable with her reactions.

As was he.

He smiled and looked at the tips of his fingers that had examined the bee sting on her neck and applied the baking soda paste. They still tingled. He understood more fully her uneasiness with her reaction for now he felt the same.

It would prove challenging to go back to the way things had been, to be neighbors working together for mutual benefit. Though perhaps it had never been quite that simple.

His smile lingered throughout the morning as he and Pat planted the crop. A few more days and the crop would be in the ground. He'd then turn his time to working the horses.

The children played. Susanne left the house only once and wandered to the garden. He knew by the way she fell on her knees that a few early plants were already poking through the ground, though they might only be weeds.

Susanne straightened and waved at him before she returned to the house.

The morning slipped away on slow, measured steps. Uncertainty reared its head as the sun moved overhead and he took Pat to water. Would she be too busy to bring him dinner?

When the door opened and Susanne stepped out, a plate in each hand, his heart sang.

He left Pat to eat and rest a bit, and waited by the side of the barn as she crossed to him. She slowed and stared. Did his expression give something away? Their gazes caught and held as she drew steadily closer. She stopped three feet away though the space felt like nothing. He could feel her in every pore. Each breath filled with her sweet presence.

“I brought you dinner.” Her voice seemed husky. Or was it only his brain that made the words deeper, more emotional?

“Thanks.” He took the two plates, one loaded with egg sandwiches on thick slices of bread and the other with a large piece of chocolate cake. “Smells real good.”

“Lots of plants are coming through the ground in the garden.” She sat with her back against the barn and he did the same, side by side, their shoulders brushing. “Go head and eat. Don't let me stop you.”

He did so and she talked as he ate.

“I helped Jim with the garden last year but this is the first year I've been in charge. It's kind of exciting to see things growing. Just think how much food I'll be able to produce to feed the children.” She chattered on about peas and beans and potatoes before she suddenly ran out of words.

He studied her. A frown creased her forehead. “What's wrong?”

“I just realized how much the future depends on what grows in the garden and how many things can go wrong. So much depends on the weather.”

“That's true.” Too much rain, too little rain, hail, frost, insect pests, even deer could destroy a crop and a garden. “Farmers are truly dependent on things they can't control.”

“That's true but—” she brightened “—I can trust God to meet our needs.”

“You've seen firsthand how a family survives when the crops and garden fail?” He wanted to know what she based her faith on.

“I'm not a farm girl. I told you that. So my experience is somewhat limited.” Her gaze went beyond him to the distance. “But time and again I saw God meet my needs in unexpected ways when I was living with Aunt Ada. She was miserly. She wouldn't buy me new clothes even when I was in desperate need and I told you what happened when she lent me an old dress.”

His fists clenched. “She sounds very unfair.” He could think of a dozen other ways to describe her but had no desire to give Susanne more reason for the troubled expression that always came to her face when she talked about her aunt.

“Well, she took the dress back even though I desperately needed something that fit. I prayed and reminded God of the fact. Not that He didn't know but I needed to let Him know I trusted Him. I might have asked the preacher's wife for help but Aunt Ada had forbidden it. Nor did she believe in accepting charity.”

“Or offering it.”

“That's true.” Susanne's amused smile eased his thoughts. “You would never guess how I got four dresses that fit me.”

“I don't suppose I would.” It was enough to know she'd had her needs met and her faith honored.

“In a garbage heap. I had taken a bucket of garbage to the place and saw a bundle on top. I examined it and there were four dresses and a pair of shoes in it. All I had to do was wash and mend them and they were almost like new.”

He schooled his face to reveal none of his dismay. What kind of woman would treat anyone that way, let alone her niece? And yet it had not hardened Susanne or made her equally miserly. She was a joyful, generous woman who loved her nieces and nephews and did not fail to show it in every way she could. Perhaps because of the way she'd been treated. “You have every reason in the world to be resentful.”

She favored him with a smile full of sunshine, her eyes shining brightly. “Does anyone have the right to be resentful? You see, I am not responsible for how others act, only how I act. And I chose to believe God loves me even though I lost my parents and have an aunt Ada.”

“I guess it applies to me, as well. I can choose to believe God made me who I am and He loves me no matter how others view me.”

She pressed her hand to his. “Isn't it wonderfully freeing?”

He planted his other hand on top of hers, sandwiching it between his two. “It is. Thank you.” His words did not begin to express the hope she planted in his heart.

She glanced at his empty plates. “I won't keep you.” She took the dishes and headed for the house.

As he went to get Pat, he looked back and saw her doing the same. They both grinned, but neither of them moved. He would not have been the first, except Pat snorted as if to say it was time to get back to work. He waved and went to the field. Again he glanced toward the house.

Susanne stood in the same spot still watching. He bent over the hitch, pleased beyond reason that she did.

He worked all afternoon breaking only for the cold drink and more chocolate cake that Susanne and the children brought out. Then it was time to go home. Three more days and he'd be done seeding. He would miss this routine. Not likely would anyone see fit to bring him a snack when he worked with the horses.

On the way home, he did some planning. Tomorrow was Saturday. He wouldn't be planting on Sunday, but perhaps he could do something else.

He reached the ranch, took care of his horse then joined the others heading for the house. He kissed Maisie on the cheek, sat at the table and bowed his head as Big Sam asked the blessing.

Big Sam concluded his report on his day by saying, “I'll move the herd up to higher pasture next week.”

Maisie turned to Tanner. “How was your day?”

“I reckon it will take three days to finish seeding. I checked on the horses. You know leaving them alone to settle in was a great idea. They're getting used to people around them.” He ignored the teasing way Levi and Johnny nudged each other as he continued, speaking directly to Maisie. “I was thinking Miss Collins and the children must get lonely, so I wondered if you would mind if I invite them over for dinner on Sunday.”

Levi and Johnny dropped their jaws.

“He's inviting a lady friend!” Johnny could hardly get the words out.

Tanner didn't bother acknowledging the comment.

Maisie smiled. “That would be a lovely idea. Please extend an invite from me.”

He nodded and the conversation shifted to Johnny, who couldn't seem to think of anything except to repeat, “He's inviting a lady friend.”

* * *

Inviting them over still seemed like a good idea in the light of day, but now as he rode toward the Collins farm, Tanner couldn't think how to extend the invite.

As always as he neared, he eyed the surrounding area. He'd seen nothing of Charlie since the man had staggered up the hill, but Tanner still knew how vulnerable Susanne was. Today he would teach her to use that gun.

He reached the barn, unsaddled Scout and put him in the nearby pasture to graze. “Good morning,” he said to Frank, who was in the barn.

Then he headed for the house. Janie rushed out to greet him and he swung her in the air. He did the same to Robbie, who was on her heels. Liz came out with a bucket of scraps for the chickens and paused to say good morning.

Susanne stood in the doorway, all smiles, and offered him a sunny greeting.

He stopped six feet away and grinned at her. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Isn't the sun lovely? And not a cloud in the sky.”

He glanced up though the view wasn't half as nice as the one before him. Not that he was about to say it. “Maisie says you are invited to dinner at the ranch tomorrow.”

Her eyes lit. The children crowded close to see what she'd say. “Would you like that?” she asked them.

“Mrs. Harding seems like a nice lady,” Liz said.

“She brung me home and she wasn't mad at me,” Janie added.

Frank said, “I'd like to see the ranch and the horses.”

Robbie's eyes were big. “How would we get there?”

“I'll come and get you,” Tanner said. “I have to check on the horses anyway.”

Susanne nodded. “Then it's decided. We accept.”

“Good. Now one more thing. Before I go home, I will give you lessons in handling the rifle.” He deliberately made it an announcement, not a question.

Susanne shooed the children away and confronted him. “I'm not sure I want to know how. I could never bring myself to shoot a man.”

“I'm not suggesting you should. But at least you can scare off any intruders, whether man or beast.” He could not bear to think of her alone and defenseless. “Let's do it at noon.” He narrowed his eyes and did his best to look fierce. “High noon. The traditional time for a shoot-out.”

She laughed. “Guess I can't refuse now without looking yellow.”

He grinned. “Sounds like you've been reading the same dime novels I have.”

“Jim enjoyed them and I got a little bored over the winter.”

“Noon it is, then.” He returned to seeding, counting every hour until noon arrived.

The sun finally reached its zenith and he took Pat in. Susanne brought him dinner, looking at once eager and reluctant.

“You aren't going to chicken out, are you?” he asked.

“Not a chance. But I am a little nervous. Frank says I'll feel the recoil. It might hurt, he says.”

“It doesn't have to.” He'd make sure it didn't. “Bring the rifle and bullets out while I eat.” He had the sandwiches down before she reached the house and finished the chocolate cake before she stepped out with the rifle.

The children clustered about. “Can we watch?” Robbie asked.

“You stay here and we'll go out there.” He pointed to a grove of trees where they could safely shoot away from the house and not put anyone in harm's way. “Liz, Frank, you make sure Robbie and Janie stay right here.”

Each of them grabbed a child's hand. They wouldn't be going anywhere.

Together he and Susanne walked the hundred yards to the trees. He stacked hunks of wood on a fallen log. Not that he cared if she hit a target or not. Step by step he showed her how to load and cock the rifle. He had her do it several times until he was confident she knew what to do.

“Now hold the rifle butt to your shoulder good and tight.” He stood behind her and showed her what he meant, then reached around her and steadied the rifle.

“Ready, aim, now squeeze the trigger.” She did. The recoil sent her stumbling against him. He planted his hands on her shoulders and held her safe. She lowered the gun and eased about to face him. He kept his hands on her shoulders, shifting position as she turned. Her eyes were wide, full of surprise.

Then she grinned. “I did it,” she yelled, not realizing how loudly she spoke because of the sound of the blast.

He looked deep into her eyes, saw so many things. Things he wondered if she meant for him to see. Pride, contentment, gratitude and... Was it pleasure, too, he saw there? Did she welcome the excuse to be held in his arms? She smiled up at him in such a way that he allowed himself to hope it was possible.

She turned back to the targets he'd set up. “Don't suppose I hit anything.”

“Listen. I suggest you either aim high or low as a warning. That should scare off anyone. Now try it again.”

She nodded and reloaded with care, lifted the rifle to her shoulder and looked at him. Whether or not she meant it as invitation to stand behind her again, he willingly took it as such and again cradled her in his arms, steadying the rifle and holding her against the recoil.

His senses filled with the scent of her—the smells of baking and freshly turned soil—though that might be coming from him. Her hair was soft as newly washed cotton and smelled like sunshine. Her arms were warm and her muscles firm. The skin on her hands where he held them against the rifle was smooth, making him want to run his fingers up and down the back of her hand. He breathed deeply, branding every detail in his brain.

She squeezed. The bullet exploded from the gun and thudded into a nearby tree. The recoil pressed her into his chest. She lowered the gun, but apart from that neither of them moved.

He would freeze the moment here forever if that were possible. But the children waited nearby. Pat would be ready to get to work. The rest of the crop still had to be put in the ground.

He released her. She darted a look at him from under her dark lashes as if the moment had been as packed with awareness for her as it had been for him. A loud, insistent part of his brain said he should stay away from her.

A quieter part said he wasn't running from her or the children.

Tomorrow was Sunday and he would take them to the ranch. He could hardly wait. He'd seen her life; now it was time for her to see his.