Trouble At Lone Spur (4 page)

When the man didn’t speak but stared, instead, at the supple fingers resting on his long-sleeved shirt, Liz lifted her hand and snapped her fingers in front of his glazed
eyes. “Mr. Spencer. Are you all right? Has something else happened to your mare?”

“Nothing,” he croaked, stepping abruptly back. “I was on my way to find you. Rafe called a minute ago. He’s had trouble with the truck and won’t make it to the ranch for a couple of days. If you bank locally, I’ll have my accountant deposit direct. If not, you’ll have to tell me where to mail a check.”

Liz braced herself against the door frame. Now she’d have to explain her ailing finances, no matter how embarrassing. “Uh, I haven’t opened an account here yet. And I’m short on cash for gasoline. I’ll have to wait until Rafe returns.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “How short? Don’t you have credit cards?”

“I, ah, no.” She felt her face getting red and toyed with the gold-plated chain Melody had given her last Mother’s Day. She’d long since sold the two real ones she’d worn when she left her parents’ home. Those and her wedding rings had bought the plot to bury Corbett. It had taken her until last year to pay off the casket.

Liz felt Gil Spencer’s eyes following the movements of her hand. She stopped twisting the chain and hoped she’d washed away the green ring it sometimes left. She imagined the women he knew wore only high-grade silver and gold. Lizbeth Robbins didn’t need expensive baubles, and tried to convey as much to the owner of the Lone Spur with a carefree up-thrust of her chin.

Gil was too close to running on empty to pick up on any of her fleeting emotions. He could barely keep his eyelids ajar. The flash of sunlight on her gold necklace made him light-headed. “We’ll settle this in the morning, Mrs. Robbins. If I don’t get some shut-eye, I’m gonna pass out.”

To Liz’s surprise, he brushed past her and stalked across the yard and up the steps to his house. She’d barely closed her mouth when Melody and the twins came tumbling out the door that had so recently swallowed Gilman Spencer.

“My dad said for us to keep quiet,” one twin announced. “He wants us to ride over and get Doc Shelton for Shady Lady. Can Melody come along?”

The boys had never asked her permission for anything before. They just took what they wanted, often convincing Melody to join them. But today…well, what harm in letting Melody accompany them one last time? According to Rafe, the vet was located near the west end of the ranch. Maybe a half-hour ride away. It would give Liz time to do some preliminary packing. “Okay,” she agreed. “No side trips, though. Stay on Lone Spur land and come straight home afterward. It’ll be suppertime.”

“Yuck,” confided the twin who’d done all the talking so far. “Ben’s fixing liver and onions. I hate liver.”

“Me, too,” said his brother, making a gagging sound.

Liz turned abruptly toward the cottage. Secretly she agreed, but it wouldn’t do to let those little rapscallions see, Lord knew what they’d tell Mr. Jones. Not that it made any difference now.

Back inside the cottage, Liz didn’t know where to start. In two weeks she’d scrubbed, painted, sewed curtains, put down rugs and made this place into a home. Unless Spencer’s next farrier had a wife, she doubted the pastel paint and lace curtains would be appreciated. Yet to leave the floors and windows bare seemed petty. In the end she elected to leave everything behind, not wanting any reminders of her sojourn here. That decision made, her chore shrank considerably. Liz poured a glass of lemonade and went out to sit on the porch. No need to box
things up until Rafe returned. Tonight she’d make Melody’s favorite supper. Chicken and dumplings. With chocolate cupcakes for dessert. Later they’d read her library books.

The evening sky was streaked with what looked like layers of raspberry and orange sorbet by the time the children galloped into the yard. The cooled cupcakes were frosted, and plump dumplings simmered on top of thick chicken stew. As Liz stepped to the door, all three children slid off their mounts and talked at once. The gist was that the veterinarian’s house had burned down. According to his neighbor, the doctor and his wife were staying at one of the hotels in town. The neighbor didn’t know which one.

“Rusty and me gotta go tell Dad,” one twin said as he tugged on his brother’s arm. “He wanted Doc to fix Shady Lady. Now what’ll he do?”

“Mom, you’ll take care of her, won’t you?” Melody asked earnestly.

Liz wiped sweaty palms down the sides of her jeans. “Oh, I don’t know, hon. You know I’m not a vet.”

“But Mr. Spencer said it’s her leg. You know ‘bout legs.”

The children formed a ring at the bottom of the steps. Three pairs of eyes clung to Liz. She shrugged and tucked her hands into her front pockets. “Your dad was done in,” she told the boys. “I’d hate to have you wake him needlessly. Tell you what, after supper, I’ll take a look at the mare. If I think I can help her, I will. If not, I’ll call around and try to locate Dr. Shelton.”

One of the boys sniffed the air. “Something smells great.”

Liz smiled. “Nothing special. Chicken and dumplings.”

Melody’s eyes danced. “Yippee!”

“You got ‘nuff for me and Rusty?” one boy asked wistfully. The one Liz had thought
was
Rusty. Turned out she was wrong again.

“I have enough, but Mr. Jones—”

“—won’t care!” whooped the twins together.

“But your father—”

“—said for us to be quiet,” Rusty finished sagely.

“Please, Mom,” Melody begged, prancing around on tiptoe. “We haven’t had company for supper since we moved in.”

Liz leveled a stern look at the boys. “We almost did,” she said pointedly. “I mean Macy Rydell’s surprise visit.”

The twins had the grace to look guilty, but neither admitted a thing;

Liz threw up her hands. If Melody wanted company, how could she say no? They were just kids, after all—kids without a mother. Liz didn’t know what had become of Mrs. Spencer, but young as they were, they must miss her. “All right.” She gave in. “Bed the horses, then see if Mr. Jones agrees. Melody, you go with them to make sure he knows it’s me doing the inviting.” For a minute it was difficult to associate the eager little boys with the hellions who’d harassed her for two weeks.

Supper went off without a hitch, even though one of the boys—Dustin, Liz thought—picked the celery out of his chicken stew and piled it beside his plate, and the other fed the cat under the table even though she said not to.

The cupcakes were, of course, the biggest hit. Both boys gobbled them up and conned her into allowing them seconds. It seemed like a good opportunity to satisfy her curiosity about their mother, but Liz struck out flatly when she asked a discreet question. Immediately thereafter,
one twin spilled his milk. It was so quick on the heels of her query, Liz wondered if he’d done it on purpose. She cleaned up the mess without comment, and a few minutes later, when the boys insisted it was time to leave, she offered to walk them home.

“Boys ain’t a-scared of the dark,” one twin declared brashly.

Liz still trailed them to the door. “I’ll look in on the mare,” she promised, lingering on the porch until she saw they’d reached home safely. Not wanting to leave Melody alone, Liz suggested she don her pajamas and bring a library book to the barn.

Turned out it was a smart move. Shady Lady had managed to get twisted in the sling. Cold water no longer ran on her injured limb. Liz spent forty minutes loosening the sling and turning the horse. By the time she finished, Melody was asleep in a pile of fresh straw. Liz felt bad about not reading to her. She stroked a hand through Melody’s bangs and wondered if the Spencer twins would remember the cupcakes long enough to grant her the favor of returning the books to school on Monday.

Near midnight Liz thought the mare’s leg looked a little better. She had dug through the supply cabinets and found two ingredients, liniment and DMSO, an anti-inflammatory salve. Some vets eschewed using either or both. In the past she’d had some success mixing the two. Her father always stressed trying homeopathic methods before using steroids. On that they agreed.

Melody slept on, and Liz lost track of time as she alternated the applications with ice packs.

G
IL AWOKE
with a start and looked at the clock—2:00 a.m? He still lay naked and crosswise on his king-size bed. The last thing he recollected was toweling off after
he’d showered and shaved. All at once Gil remembered Shady Lady. He grabbed the clock and shook it. Was that the right time? He’d sent the twins for the vet. Why hadn’t someone come for him when Doc Shelton arrived?

Bolting off the bed, Gil searched his closet in the dark for a clean pair of jeans. He jerked them on, tugged on his boots, then hurried from his room and down the stairs, stopping at the second level to check on the boys. The pair were sleeping soundly in their bunk beds. The ranch house was big enough so each could have had a separate room, but every time he suggested it, they declined.

Smiling at the way Dustin slept with his rump in the air and Rusty lay curled around a raggedy stuffed dog, Gil backed out, closed the door and smothered a yawn. The teachers separated them at school, claiming that otherwise they couldn’t tell the boys apart. Gil didn’t understand that. He had no trouble. Dustin did everything with a swagger, sort of like his great-grandfather Spencer. That kid was a leader, a mover and a shaker. Lately, more of an instigator.

Gil paused on the landing to glance back at the closed door. Sobered, he headed down the next flight. Russell, now, was a thinker. A cuddler. He was also a follower, which worried Gil. He wished he had more free time to spend with his sons. Ben Jones, by his own admission, was slowing down. The boys needed someone caring yet energetic. A tall order.

Gil couldn’t say why, when he stepped outside into the moonlight, his gaze strayed to the cottage snuggled beneath the live oaks—the ranch farrier’s cottage.
She
fairly oozed energy. Clattering disgustedly down the steps, Gil jogged to the back door of the barn. He counted on the
crisp night air to clear his head. He’d pretty well succeeded in shaking out the cobwebs when he burst through the barn’s side door and tripped over the woman who muddied his thoughts.

“Oof!” Liz let out a muffled scream as she fell. She’d taken Shady Lady out of her stall and they’d ambled the length of the barn. She was bent over checking the mare’s sore leg when a shadowy hulk barreled through the door, knocking her flat.

Gil grabbed for her and missed. His momentum toppled both of them to the hard-packed earthen floor. He sprawled over her, as yet unable to get his bearings.

She landed an elbow in his diaphragm, stealing his wind.

“Get off me.” Instinct prompted her wild struggle. For a second Liz feared Macy Rydell had decided to take revenge for the twins’ practical joke. It dawned slowly that she didn’t smell Rydell’s strong cologne; the warm skin pressed against her nose exuded the subtle scent of spruce.

Liz lay still, breathing deeply. It was silly to be attracted or repelled by a man’s cologne, but from the first day she’d met Corbett, she’d been drawn by his clean scent of heather and sea breeze. When good memories sneaked in like this, Liz still had problems accepting the unfairness of Corbett’s early death.

Her sudden quiescence allowed Gil time to scramble up. “What in hell are you doing in my barn at this hour?” he demanded, extending her a hand.

The warm feelings evaporated instantly. “Not stealing your horse, if that’s what’s running through your mind.” She batted his hand aside and climbed to her feet unaided. “Twice we’ve met, Mr. Spencer, and twice I’ve
bruised more than my pride. Haven’t you ever heard of a handshake?”

Gil ignored her sarcasm. He’d bent to examine Shady Lady’s trim ankles. It was difficult to tell which leg had been injured. “So, were you here when Doc Shelton came by? I thought the boys would wake me.”

“Your vet had a house fire. According to the kids, he’s temporarily moved his practice into town. His neighbor didn’t know exactly where.”

“Then the ice water did the trick. Guess that leg wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Liz debated whether or not to mention her home remedy, and decided he needed to know. “I popped in here after supper. Your horse had managed to twist herself up in the sling. I rummaged around and found cold packs, then alternated them with a topical mixture my dad used on his thoroughbreds. I was just walking her, to see if the swelling stayed down.”

Frowning, Gil ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

Liz’s eyes followed the play of muscles down his arm and chest. She’d assumed, because of the long-sleeved shirt he’d worn earlier, that the skin beneath would be pale. In fact, his tan was the color of Kentucky bourbon and covered every inch of his flesh she could see. And that was quite a few inches. No farmer’s tan for Gilman Spencer. He bronzed nicely for someone with so much red in his hair. Liz studied his body with open appreciation.

Gil noticed. He ran a self-conscious hand over his bare chest. “Sorry if I offend your Southern sensibilities. I didn’t expect to find ladies in my barn at this hour—except the equine variety.”

Liz didn’t flush or look away. “Who says I’m Southern?”

Gil crossed his arms and laughed. “You have that drawl, Miss Scarlett.”

Whirling, Liz led Shady Lady to an empty stall she’d spread deep with sand and sawdust, then covered with fresh hay. “I was born and raised in bluegrass country. We don’t consider ourselves Southern.”

“That’s right,” he said lightly as he followed her. “You said your daddy raises thoroughbreds. So why aren’t you home in Kentucky shoeing
his
horses?”

Liz felt a knife blade slide into her heart. How had their conversation taken this turn? Corbett and Hoot Bell were the only two people who knew about her permanent estrangement from her parents. Melody had never asked about grandparents or her lack thereof. Liz wanted to keep it that way. The poor kid had enough strikes against her having never known her father. Patting Shady Lady’s silky nose one last time, she backed out of the stall and quietly closed the door. “I’ve left the mixture for her leg in the fridge. You should use it liberally two or three times a day until the swelling’s completely gone. And don’t ride her for a week. But I’m sure you know that.” Liz strode briskly through the barn, stopping where Melody lay asleep in the hay.