The Cowboy's Ready-Made Family. Linda Ford
have that discussion later, after the garden had been worked. The children and their needs must come first.
She’d walked as far as the fence several times, planning how to plant the garden if she ever got the ground tilled. She’d even started digging it with a spade but made little progress. The garden spot had seemed as big as the oat field when she’d turned over one clod at a time. She’d not refuse his help if it meant providing for the children.
“If you wouldn’t mind, you can plow the entire area and run the rows this way.” She indicated the direction with a wave of her hand.
“It will be ready in a couple of hours. You go prepare your seeds while I take care of it.”
She hustled back to the house as her inner war continued. Her vows, her fear and caution against the pressing needs of the farm.
Her throat burned knowing she had little choice but to accept his help. But she would not be obligated. Somehow she had to make that clear to him.
She lifted the cellar lid and climbed down the ladder to get the box of seeds she’d stored there, and brought them up. In addition, for weeks she’d been saving the eyes from the potatoes as she peeled them and storing them in a bucket.
She fairly danced as she organized the lot. The garden would be planted today. With God’s good blessing she would have food to feed the children through the winter.
She wanted to monitor Tanner’s progress without appearing to be watching him, so she took the seeds to the edge of the garden.
He followed after the horse and plow, the reins loose in his hands. Pat appeared happy to be working, plodding along at a moderate pace. Did horses express emotions? Tanner grinned and waved. Seemed he was happy, too.
The idea should put her at ease, but it had quite the opposite effect.
Aunt Ada would act as if she enjoyed something only to turn on Susanne with sudden criticism and harshness, stealing away any idea that her aunt had been pleased in the least.
Susanne hurried away to get a hoe, a rake, twine and stakes.
When she returned, Tanner had his back to her as he plowed the other direction and she felt free to watch. There was something about his posture that suggested he was relaxed. Could it be true that he enjoyed this task? Would that make him less demanding of repayment? He was using the corrals. Would that be enough?
He finished plowing the garden and guided Pat back to the yard.
Susanne grabbed the rake intending to smooth the furrows.
“No need to do that,” Tanner said. “I’ll be right back.” He drove the horse to the barn and unhooked the plow, then backed Pat to another implement. In minutes he drove the horse across the yard dragging harrows that lifted a cloud of dust in their wake.
“I didn’t even know they were in there,” she said.
“They were kind of buried in the grass.” He returned to the garden. The children chased after the harrows. They’d soon be dirty from head to toe, but she didn’t have the heart to call them away. They were enjoying themselves far too much.
Tanner glanced over his shoulder, saw them playing in the dirt and laughed. He turned to Susanne and called, “There’s nothing sweeter than the smell of freshly turned soil.” His smile faded. “Except maybe the smell of sage and pine.” He looked at the mountains for a moment before he returned his attention to the garden.
She leaned on the garden fence. If only she could enjoy watching the land being prepared for planting, but it was impossible. Her gaze drifted again and again to the man doing the work. His muscles bulged beneath the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his strength. He stopped, wiped his brow with a handkerchief and rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing bronze skin the color of an old penny. Jim had told her the Harding boys’ mother had been a full-blooded Indian. She knew only fragments of the story. Just enough to know the woman had been injured and rescued by Tanner’s father. It seemed very romantic and caring.
Which meant nothing in the scheme of things. All that mattered to her was providing for and protecting these children. And her own heart.
Tanner turned the horse and harrows around and faced her. Their gazes caught. She couldn’t pull from his look. Couldn’t draw breath. Couldn’t make her brain work. The children played, their happy sounds but a melody in the background.
He tipped his head slightly and drove the horse from the garden.
She breathed again and sagged against the fence, feeling as if her protective walls had been threatened.
His footsteps thudded across the yard and she jerked to attention and gathered up the twine, but before she could pick up the stakes, he did. He reached for the twine and she relinquished it without a thought.
Sucking in a deep breath, she told herself to refuse his help. But, while she gathered her thoughts, he trotted to the garden and drove the stake in on one end, affixed the twine and hurried down the length to drive in the second stake, pulling the line taut.
He returned and picked up the hoe.
He meant to help plant the garden.
“You don’t have to do this. I can manage.”
He stopped. The air stilled and the children grew quiet. “Do you object?” Something in his voice made her pause and consider her answer. It wasn’t exactly fear she heard; she was quite certain Tanner would never admit fear. Did he think she objected on the basis of his mixed heritage? She’d already informed him it was the least of her concerns.
As she’d often said, actions proved one’s words.
She had to prove her words by her actions, as well.
“I have no objection.” She tried unsuccessfully to quell the turmoil in her heart.
She prayed she wouldn’t live to regret this arrangement.
Tanner’s muscles had turned to stone. He’d waited for her response, and when she said she had no objection he relaxed so suddenly he welcomed the hoe to lean on. He’d sensed her apprehension all day. Part of him wanted to assure her she had nothing to fear from him. A larger part knew he should walk away from this family before anyone could take exception to his presence on the farm of an unmarried white woman. Two things kept him from leaving. First, the desperate need of this family. And, to a lesser degree, his plan to tame the horses.
Ma would have approved of him helping this family.
What would Seena Harding have said if she’d seen the way he stared at Susanne as he paused at the end of the garden with Pat’s reins slack in his hands? Maybe she could have explained to him why the whole world had ground to a halt as their looks went on and on.
He gave a little snort that he hoped sounded like he might be dislodging something caught in the back of his throat. Like maybe dust or fluff off the weeds. Who’d have thought plowing a garden could confuse a man so thoroughly? Then he finally spoke.
“What are you going to plant?”
“I’m going to plant peas and beans and potatoes and carrots over here. And over there lettuce and radishes and chard. And turnips.” She laughed as if the idea pleased her immensely. The look she gave him about turned him to mush.
What was wrong with him? He’d never felt this way before in his entire life. Well, except for the time that Rosneau girl had batted her eyes at him when they were both about fifteen. Right before her father had grabbed his daughter, pushing her behind him and saying, “You stay away from the likes of him.” Tanner should have understood how unwelcome he was at that point, but he’d persisted until both Jenny and Mr. Rosneau had made it abundantly clear with more than words.
At the reminder of that humiliation, he pulled his