twelve. A flash flood.” She hoped her voice remained flat and emotionless though her insides ached with the memory. She couldn’t stop the shudder that rocked her shoulders.
“I was seven when my ma died. Her name was Seena. I still miss her.” His voice deepened and she understood he fought the same pain she did.
“I guess the missing never goes away.” She looked at him.
He looked at her, sharing—at least, in her mind—a common bond of loss. His dark eyes held a world of sorrow and sympathy that called to her lonely heart. The idea made her insides feel they could break into a thousand pieces with the slightest jar.
“Auntie Susanne, look at me,” Janie called, saving her from her silly thoughts. Lonely heart, indeed. She’d never be lonely with four children to raise. “I’m a queen.” Janie had woven some kind of vine into a coronet on her head.
“You sure are,” Susanne said, her voice surprisingly calm.
“Do I look nice, Mr. Tanner?” the child asked.
“Just like a queen.” He chuckled as he turned to Susanne. “I guess these kids keep you on your toes.”
“I admit I’m never bored. In fact, I feel bad that I’m so busy I don’t get a chance to do special things with them.”
“Maybe you’ll be less busy now that I’m here to help.”
She wished he hadn’t reminded her of the situation. Her nerves twitched. Accepting help equaled obligation and losing the freedom to make her own choices. It allowed someone to demand something in return. Something she couldn’t or didn’t want to give.
Now was the time to insist on boundaries around the children. But before she could speak, he opened the gate and ushered her through. “Show me what you want.” He crossed his arms and waited.
She’d 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
