dunno. But she won’t be happy.” He drew in a deep breath. “I promised I wouldn’t disappear again but I forgot my promise when I heard your horses.”
The boy would have already been a distance from the farm in order to hear them, but Tanner didn’t point that out.
Robbie perked up. “Not sorry I saw them, either. They’re fine-looking animals.”
Tanner chuckled. “Thanks. I happen to agree.” He prodded the horse onward until he entered the yard.
A woman dashed from the barn, dusty skirts flying, blond hair blowing in the wind. She skidded to a halt as she heard the hoofbeats of Tanner’s mount and spun about to face him.
From twenty feet away, he could discern this was not an old aunt but a beautiful young woman with blue eyes fringed by dark lashes.
She stared at him, then blinked as if unable to believe her eyes.
He could almost hear her thoughts. What’s this wild Indian doing in my yard?
If she’d had a man about, he’d most likely come after Tanner with a weapon like Jenny Rosneau’s pa had. The man had taken objection to a half-breed wanting to court his daughter.
“Go join the rest of your kin on the reservation,” he’d said. Mr. Rosneau obviously did not think being a Harding mattered at all.
Big Sam might have objected had he heard. But Tanner did not tell him. All that mattered was that Jenny shared her pa’s opinion. Nothing his pa said would change how people looked at Tanner or how the young ladies ducked into doorways to avoid him.
At least the woman before him appeared unarmed, so he wouldn’t have to defend himself.
He reached back for Robbie, lifted him from the horse and lowered him to the ground. “He belong to you?”
* * *
Susanne’s mind whirled. What was a stranger doing in her yard? Even more, what was he doing with Robbie? She grabbed Robbie and pulled him to her side. “Did this man hurt you?”
The man in question studied her with ebony eyes. He wore a black hat with a feather in the band and a fringed leather shirt. Leather trousers and dusty cowboy boots completed his outfit except for a large knife at his waist. She glanced about but saw no weapon she could grab. She was defenseless, but if he meant to attack she would fight tooth and nail.
His appearance was the icing on the cake for an already dreadful morning. First, the milk cow was missing. Frank had gone looking for her. He was a responsible boy but, still, he was only eleven. He shouldn’t be doing her job. She needed to get the fences fixed so the cow wouldn’t get out. But she simply couldn’t keep up with all the things that needed doing.
Then Liz went to get the eggs. She was ten but had gathered eggs for her mother even before Susanne had come out to help. But six-year-old Janie had followed her and left the gate open. Now all the chickens were out racing around. If Susanne didn’t get them in before dark, some predator would enjoy a chicken dinner.
She thought that was as bad as the morning could get. Then on top of that Robbie had disappeared again. The boy wandered about at will. She had been searching for him when Alfred Morris had shown up with a renewed offer.
“You can’t run the farm on your own,” Alfred had said, as he did every time he crossed her path—which he made certain occurred with alarming regularity. “That’s obvious to anyone who cares to look. Sell it or abandon it. Swallow your pride and accept my offer of marriage. You’d have a much better life as my wife.”
“Mr. Morris, I’m flattered. Truly I am. But I don’t want to sell my brother’s farm. Someday it will belong to his sons.”
Alfred lived in town where he ran a successful mercantile business. She was sure he’d make someone a very good husband. Just not her. No, marriage was simply not in her plans. Hadn’t been even before she became the sole guardian of four children.
Her own parents had died, drowned in a flash flood, when she was twelve. Her brother, Jim, was fifteen years older and had already moved west. He’d come for the funeral and made arrangements for Susanne to live with Aunt Ada. But living with her relative was less than ideal. Aunt Ada treated her like a slave. Never had she let Susanne forget how much she owed her aunt for a roof over her head and a bed. Well, more like a cot in the back of the storeroom but, regardless, according to Aunt Ada Susanne should be grateful for small mercies.
When Jim’s wife grew ill, he’d sent for Susanne to help care for her and the children. Weeks after her arrival, Alice died. And now Jim was gone, too, dead from pneumonia right after Christmas.
The farm had gone downhill since then. Now it was time to plant the crop, but Susanne wondered how she’d be able to get it in the ground.
Only one thing mattered—the children. Keeping them together and caring for them. She would never see them taken in by others, parceled out to relatives or neighbors and treated poorly as she’d been. Somehow she’d take care of them herself.
But she hadn’t counted on having to face an Indian. Didn’t he look familiar? Where had she seen him before?
“Auntie Susanne, he gots some of the wild horses.”
At Robbie’s words, she tore her gaze from the man before her. “Is that where you were?” Her voice came out higher than normal. “You stay away from wild horses. You could get hurt.”
“Mr. Harding brought me back.”
She jerked back to the man on horseback. So that’s why he looked familiar. He was a Harding. The family owned a big ranch—the Sundown Ranch—to the east of Jim’s little farm. She hadn’t recognized him right away because he’d always worn jeans and a shirt when she’d seen him in town. Why did he dress like an Indian now? “Thank you for seeing him home safely.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Don’t guess we’ve been properly introduced. I’m your neighbor Tanner Harding.”
The girls left off chasing the chickens and stared at Mr. Harding.
Frank trotted up. “Aunt Susanne, I can’t find the cow.” He turned his attention to their visitor. “You an Indian?”
“Frank,” Susanne scolded. “You shouldn’t ask such a question.”
Mr. Harding chuckled. “It’s okay. I’m half Indian, half white.”
“He gots wild horses in a pen,” Robbie said with some importance.
“I’m Frank.” The boy held his hand out for a proper introduction.
Mr. Harding swung out of his saddle with more ease than most men. Certainly with more ease than Alfred Morris, who struggled to get in and out of the saddle.
Mr. Harding took Frank’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, neighbor.”
Frank’s chest swelled at the greeting. “You, too, Mr. Harding.”
“Prefer you call me Tanner. Mr. Harding is my pa.” He let his gaze touch each of them.
That
