Free This Loving Land by Dorothy Garlock Page A

brother.
    “You go on out,” Sadie urged. “I’ll call when the meal’s ready.”
     
    It was later in the afternoon, as she and Ellen were sitting in the shade of the oak tree, that Summer thought about the tall ranch foreman and Travis. They were not openly hostile toward each other, but they were certainly not friendly either. She had not been able to observe them more closely because Ellen kept her occupied with woman-talk. Up to now, the talk had been about dress patterns, new novels and hairstyles.
    “How is Slater?” Ellen asked suddenly.
    “I only met him this morning.”
    The friendly blue eyes searched hers, then saddened as she shook her head.
    “It’s a shame the way that man has withdrawn since Sam was killed.” She paused, and her face turned toward the footbridge and the ranch house beyond. “He blames us, you know. I could never understand how he could think that Travis or I had anything to do with such a thing.” The sad eyes came back to Summer. “I loved Sam McLean like a brother. After all, he was my husband’s only living kin.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
    Summer reached across and clasped her hand. “I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t know Sam McLean was dead until this morning.”
    Ellen wiped her eyes. “That’s just like Slater, to bring you here without telling you.” Summer didn’t speak, so she continued. “It’s been about five years now. Or maybe four, time goes by so fast. Sam and Slater were camped in the hills, and men rode into the camp shooting. I suppose they thought Sam had money on him. They killed him. Slater was badly injured. One of them rode his horse over him time and again . . . so he said. It’s a wonder he lived. Some of Sam’s men were bringing in fresh horses and heard the shots. They rode in and killed the men on the spot. They said one man got away by riding through a nearby pass, but they found no trace of him. The dead men worked for us at one time, so Slater believes the orders came from us. It’s beyond me how he can think such a thing.” Ellen turned her face away to dab her eyes.
    Summer didn’t know what to say. The woman’s sincere distress made her half-angry at Slater. It was logical for him to be hurt and angry, but why carry on that hate, without proof, for five years?
    “Slater was a strange little boy,” Ellen said fondly. “He was so lonely. His mother was . . . well, there’s no other way to put it, not quite right. It happens sometimes to women out here in this desolate country. They can’t cope with the day-after-day loneliness of never seeing another woman.” She shook her head sadly and patted Summer’s hand. “Men!” she exclaimed. “Men have their work, but women need more than that. We need to talk, need to be loved and told that we are loved. Poor Libby, so fat and unlovable. Who could blame Sam for spending most of his time as far away from her as possible? He adored Slater and Slater adored him, tagged after him everywhere. When you came along, he adopted you as his little sister.” She breathed deeply and let out a trembly sigh. “Sometimes, I think Slater may have inherited some of what affected his mother.”
    “Did she die before the accident?”
    “Yes. She died a couple years after you and your mother went back to the Piney Woods. It was a blessing, in a way, for toward the end she had to be locked in her room. But let’s talk of more pleasant things. You have a beautiful place here. I’ve always loved this place. Your land borders on ours. Did you know that?” She laughed at Summer’s expression. “No. Your land doesn’t reach out fifteen miles, but ours reaches almost that far. You have a strip in here that borders the creek—I’d say it’s two or three miles wide. You’ve a valuable piece of land as far as Slater is concerned. The south of your land is another part of McLean’s Keep. That wily Sam!” She laughed again and shook her head. “He laid out this homestead. I don’t