Winsor, Linda (17 page)

"Will
do." Not quite as chipper as before, Deanna glanced uncertainly into one
of the empty stables. "You don't think the horses will come back while I'm
in here, do you?"

"I
doubt it, but I'll close the corral gate just in case, how's that?"

"Sounds
great. Thanks."

If
only she weren't so appreciative, so agreeable and willing to tackle anything, so—

Disconcerted,
Shep leaned the damaged door against an old sawhorse and closed the doors. When
he came through the last one, he noticed Smoky had found a place in the shade
and, eyes bright with curiosity, watched Deanna tackle the first water bucket.

She
struggled with the hook that held it suspended at the horse's head level. On
seeing the rubber pail was nearly full, Shep started to offer to take it down
for her, when she released it.

"I
got it," she grunted, lowering it to her arms' limit.

Returning
to the repair of the stable door, Shep took up a nail to replace one of the
bent ones he'd removed earlier, but he couldn't help watching Deanna's awkward
waddle toward the back door of the livery stable with the sloshing bucket
balanced between her knees. With a grin, he took up the hammer and started a
downward swing when a shriek accompanied the emptying splash of water outside.

The
end of his thumb exploded in pain, making an expressive hiss that leaked
through Shep's clenched teeth.

"Eww,"
Deanna
wailed, "what kind of an animal does
that
in his water
bucket?"

Eyes
watering, Shep tried to squeeze the agony out with his other hand, jaws
clenched in silence. If he wasn't so angry over his recklessness, he'd have
laughed in anticipation of what had grossed the city gal out. It was a fact of
life with livestock. With a horse's intake and output valves on the same plane,
manure sometimes found its way into their water containers, even when hung on
the jamb.

"That
is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen."

Just
wait till you see the stables.
His response never went beyond thought,
for Shep feared more than those words lurked behind his grating teeth, waiting
for the chance to find voice. He rolled his eyes up at the dust-laden,
cobweb-strung ceiling.
Lord, this is not going to work.

Unaware
of his pressing affliction, Deanna rinsed out the bucket, her face screwed in
disdain. Most noses weren't that cute wrinkled up like that. Shep finally let
out the breath he'd seized upon the sharp impact of the hammer. When he thought
it was safe, he eased up on the pressure on his thumb, allowing blood to throb
back into it. It hurt like the devil.

"What's
wrong with you?"

The
innocent widening of Deanna's curious gaze only added to his aggravation. Maybe
he shouldn't talk just yet, he thought, clamping down on words again. When it
was obvious he had no intention of answering, she waddled back with the
refilled bucket and set it down in front of the stable.

"You
banged your thumb?"

Those
expressive blues fixed on him were deep enough for a guy to fall into.

"Let
me see it."

Shep
clenched his hand against his chest. The last thing he needed was the source of
his pain treating it. "N...no, it's fine."

"Come
on; let me see."

"It's
fine."

"You're
white as a sheet and sweating bullets." She reached for his hand.
"Now let me see."

That
did it. "If you hadn't been babbling on about horse—" he paused in
midsentence—
"droppings
in water, I wouldn't have done it in the
first place."

He
didn't think it was possible, but his accusation made her eyes widen even more
with incredulity... or indignation.

"Well,
pardon me for my ignorance about the decided lack of horse hygiene, Forrest
Grump.
I didn't know talk was forbidden in the barn. I guess stupid
is
as
stupid does."

Deanna's
muster of defiance cracked with the slight quiver of her upturned chin.
"You will not hear one more word from me. I mean, heaven forbid you have
another boo-boo. You might bite my head off and spit down my neck."

Shep
knew a no-win situation when he saw one, and he was steeped in
no-win
up
to his neck. Still, he felt compelled to try. "Look, I'm sorry. That was
the pain talking. Just forget it, okay?"

"Sure,
no problem."

The
words said one thing; Deanna's voice said the opposite. Shep took up the hammer
and pried off a loose splinter with the claw, watching as the stubborn city gal
struggled to hang the full bucket. She lifted it twice, but after using her
knee as a bolster, got it on the second try The gentleman within pointed a
guilty finger at him, but Shep ignored the voice. The way he saw it, he was
condemned if he did, convicted it he didn't—either way he was going to pay.

"Is
your knee bothering you?" Deanna asked as she put the large salad she'd
made on the table along with two dressings.

With
the boost of an antihistamine for watery eyes, she'd finished her stable
cleaning and put fresh hay in each stall. To her amazement, the smell of the
fresh hay was refreshing in a down-home sort of way, like fresh sheets on a
bed. Not that she'd want to roll around in it, considering what she just
shoveled out, but this evening the horses should enjoy stretching out and
reveling in the scent and feel of the newness—unless they had allergies.

"It
gets a little stiff when I can't stretch it out," Shep acknowledged,
heading for the bathroom to wash up for lunch. "It'll work out."

Deanna
glanced guiltily at the sofa where her gracious host had spent the nights since
she'd been stranded there.

"You
know, there really is no reason you shouldn't sleep in your own bed. After all,
it is your house, and I'm not exactly an invited guest."

The
running bathroom faucet drowned her out. A minute later, Shep emerged, his hair
damp and neatly combed. The edges of his rolled-up sleeves were slightly damp
from where he'd evidently rinsed his hair and face without the benefit of a
cloth. Somehow the reckless dunk-and-towel-dry look became him.

"I
was taught to give ladies the best seat, and I guess that goes for a bed as
well. Aunt Sue wouldn't give me a moment's peace if I didn't." He assessed
the salad before sitting down.

"Something
wrong?" she asked.

He
hesitated, then shook his head. "It looks good. I just think I'll fix a
sandwich to go with it."

"I'll
do it."

"Sit!"

Deanna
obeyed the sharp command as instinctively as the dog that waited next to the
table in hopes of a dropped treat. "I guess hard physical work demands a
different diet than white-collar jobs."

"I
guess your white-collar beau considered all this rabbit food with no protein a
meal?"

Shep
slapped together two slices of bread with a chunk of cheese in the middle and
sat down without bothering to cut it in half like Gram always did. "Around
here, it's a side dish." He lowered his head, prompting Deanna to do the
same, and offered a short grace.

Deanna
reached for the salad dressing as Shep took a bite out of his sandwich. There
was a loud silence as she tossed the oil and vinegar among the greens. The
veggies crunching as she ate her first forkful sounded like some kind of food
grinder, no matter how softly she tried to chew. After what seemed like an
eternity, she swallowed.

"Look,
I'm sorry—" Shep began as if he'd been waiting for a lull in the
mastication.

"I'm
sorry—" she said at the same time.

Deanna
blushed as their gazes locked and gave in to the smile prompted by Shep's grin.

"Ladies
first." Shep sat back expectantly

"I
was just going to say I'm really sorry you hurt your thumb. It looks
awful." She shivered involuntarily. It did. The nail was black now and the
flesh was a screaming red.

"And
I was going to say I'm sorry for being a Forrest
Grump."

"I
have a smart mouth," she said with an apologetic shrug. "And it slips
into gear before the brain. I gotta get that worked on."

Shep
brushed aside her apology with a wave of his sandwich. "I deserved
it." He put down his napkin next to the salad bowl. "For a city
slicker, you did a good job today I didn't think you'd last past the first
stall... only heard you gag once."

Embarrassed,
Deanna rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "It's just... I mean, not just
defecating in their water bowl, but in their beds and lying in it?" She
shuddered. "What, horses have no shame?"

"It's
just the way horses are." He looked at Smoky. "Dogs don't exactly
meet human standards in hygiene either. That's why they call them
animals."

"Good
point. I just wasn't prepared. I certainly never saw such things on Dad's
Westerns, which is—was—the full extent of my horse education." She paused
in thought, her fork in front of her mouth. "I figured you fed them with a
bag on their nose, gave them water from a creek or your hat, slapped a saddle
on them, mounted with a running leap, and hi ho Silver away. I guess that's
what I was expecting—a TV ranch." She shrugged. "And who'd have
thought a wheelbarrow was so hard to steer?"

Shep
laughed. She'd put too much manure in the barrow and not only narrowly missed
running Smoky down, but almost dumped it in the barn entrance.

"It's
an art," he conceded.

"Yeah,
well I'll get it." Deanna hated for something like that to get the best of
her, especially when it looked so easy.

"It's
not like you'll be using that skill when you leave here."

Shep's
observation dropped like a wet towel over the barely reestablished camaraderie
between them. So it was just as Deanna thought earlier. He wanted her out of
his life. He was just too polite to let on, obliged as he felt to put her up.

"True,"
she admitted, "but maybe it will be like riding a bicycle. It will always
be there, should I need the skill."

Shep
finished his sandwich and the salad, the latter most likely out of politeness,
and went out to work with the mare. Deanna watched him for a long while through
the kitchen window as he talked to the animal, coaxing it with motions of his
hands or feet. Whatever he was teaching, he did so with a gentle patience while
Patch watched from the outer pasture like an old pro observing a rookie.

She
recalled how the horse always ran up to greet Shep.
You'd almost think I was
jealous,
Deanna thought with a pang,
jealous... of a horse!

"That
does it. I've
got
to do something to save my sanity"

Smoky
turned from his watch by the front door as if she'd spoken to him. His tail
twitched in answer.

"But
what?" She walked over and gave her furry companion a friendly scratch.

Framed
by the door, the picture of Hopewell's lone street lined with buildings of a
bygone era lured her attention from the dog. A hint of a smile took over
Deanna's lips, reflecting the idea the scene sparked in her mind.

The
jury was still out on whether she'd come to the right place for refuge, but
looking at the ghost town through the eyes of an entrepreneur, she suspected
there were possibilities here that Shepard Jones never thought of. Regardless,
a little exploring wouldn't hurt. And just in case— She began to scrounge
through the paper and magazine rubble atop the radio desk. It wouldn't hurt to
take a notepad along... and the
fearless
watchdog, now on his feet,
watching her in anticipation.

Early
that evening, after a quick shower and change, Deanna rode with Shep toward
Taylorville. She and Smoky had checked out the main buildings along the street,
but the Hotel Everett had captured Deanna's imagination with its rich Victorian
trappings. There had to be a fortune's worth of antiques and building materials
if Shep wanted to sell it piecemeal and demolish it. But restored, it could be
worth that much and produce income to boot.

There
were still gorgeous carved dressing screens and some original furniture in the
rooms upstairs and the lobby. Its elegance and the dust—not to mention the
fright the young geologist with the buff body gave Deanna and Smoky when he
descended the grand staircase—took her breath away.

After
admitting that her footsteps had given him pause for thought as well, the
living, breathing
ghost
apologized for scaring her and renewed an
apparent friendship with her watch mongrel. He left Deanna with visions of
dollar signs dancing in her head. With the right backing, she'd wager the ghost
town could make more money than all the horses Shep could train or breed in a
lifetime.

"Well,
there it is," Shep announced as they approached a sign that read
Welcome
to Taylorville.
"The
big
town."

Putting
her idea aside, Deanna took in the city ahead. Taylorville was a big town by
Buffalo Butte's one-stoplight standard. There was actually a bypass around the
business section of the city, but the Smart Mart store was at the intersection
of the bypass and the old route on which the town had been built at the turn of
the century Its architecture was certainly larger and more modern than the Victorian
quaintness of Buffalo Butte. Signs from some of the national fast-food chains
dotted the highway, separated by businesses that had outgrown the city limits.

Shep
pulled into one of the burger places next to a truck dealership for a quick
supper before shopping at the Smart Mart. Although silent while she did the
stable chores that morning, muscles Deanna didn't even know she had now shouted
at her in protest of their abuse as she eased gingerly into one of the wooden
booths across from her host. The adrenaline rush of her exploration and
speculation must have masked her misery until now. While Shep filled their
drink cups, she dug an aspirin from her purse and discreetly took it rather
than admit her greenhorn misery.

"Do
you know how much fat is in one of those?" she asked a few minutes later
as the cowboy lifted a double slab of burger smothered with all colors of
condiments to his mouth.

"No,
and I don't care. I'll work it off."

His
lean frame testified to that, she mused, taking a bite of her grilled chicken
sandwich.

A
gaggle of preschoolers passed by in a helter-skelter stampede toward a table
across the room where birthday balloons had been set up. A harried mom and dad
brought up the rear, arms loaded with presents.

Shep
shook his head. "It'd be easier to herd cats," he remarked under his
breath.

"You
don't like kids?" It shocked Deanna. Somehow she thought that his patience
with animals might make him a good dad.

"I
love kids... in small numbers."

Why
that tidbit of information made her feel better was beyond her. Their
relationship didn't stand a chance of getting that far.

"How's
your Chicken Lite meal?"

"Not
bad." Conscience bade her add, "Not as good as yours looks—that is,
if you scraped a half pound of ketchup off it."

"What
about the fat in those fries?"

Deanna
put a protective hand over the super size order of tasty fries. "French
fries are sacred. Besides, everyone knows a body needs
some
fat
intake."

Challenging
the skeptical lift of Shep's brow, she shoved a few into her mouth as if to
prove it.

"Sacred,
huh?" That rakish grin of his was enough to curl her toes. It had to be
fattening or something equally corrupting.

"Whenever
I got sick, Pop always brought home the best French fries from the local
grill—not that I ever met a fry I didn't like. Hot... cold... I could always be
tempted with a French fry."

"I'll
have to keep that in mind."

Deanna
nearly choked on her half-swallowed potato. Was there some double meaning here,
as if he might
want
to tempt her? She chased the fry down with a long
sip of soda. Nah, he was just teasing her. A sudden pop of a balloon from the
birthday table across the room startled her from her whimsy.

"Not
nervous are you?"

Deanna
shook her head. The slow ka-thumping renewal of her heartbeat reminded her of
her earlier scare that day "You know, that surveyor guy scared the
bejittles out of me this afternoon. I was in the old hotel and Smoky broke out
barking—"

Shep
scowled. "Voorhees?"

"No,
it was the quiet blond guy."

"He
didn't bother you, did he?"

"No,
we talked for only a minute. Seems I scared him as well," she said in an
effort to defuse the tension drawing Shep's hands into a fist on the table. His
playful teddy bear humor had turned to that of an irate grizzly. Maybe Shep
didn't like the idea of the survey for some reason.

"What
was
he
doing in there?"

"The
same thing I was, I guess—exploring."

"Did
he question you?"

Deanna
began to feel like food wasn't the only thing being grilled. "No, it's not
like I'd know anything about the place anyway."

Could
it be that if the geologists found something worth mining, it was a problem?

"Well,
if you see him snooping around the house, let me know."

"Why?
Have you got a pot of gold hidden under it?" When Shep didn't share her
jest, she became serious. "What would happen if they found gold or copper
or whatever? Would they tear up the ranch?"

"The
government owns the mineral rights. I'm not sure what a discovery like that
would entail. I'd have to check the agreement Uncle Dan signed. I just don't
like strangers snooping around my home without asking.
You
were
invited."

Deanna
wondered what Shep would say to the idea that had struck both her and the
surveyor as they'd looked around at the vintage setting. "What would you
say if I told you that you have a gold mine all right, but it doesn't have any
gold? Just the potential for making money."

Shep
gave her a quizzical look.

"If
I were you, I'd restore Hopewell and open it as a frontier town where families
could not only stay, but learn about the Old West. Kind of like Williamsburg,
Western style."

"Right."
He snorted. "And where is the gold going to come from to finance such a
thing?"

"You'd
have to put together a corporation with investors... a partner at least. I've
seen it done a zillion times. One puts up the hard assets—in your case the
town—and the others the liquid assets or the cash."

"It'd
be like living in a circus."

"Do
you want to live in that little house forever?"

"No,
I've got a place picked out for a homestead someday," he answered slowly,
"but—"

"One
would pay for the other." Deanna leaned forward as the idea took hold.
"You could start off by remodeling the hotel. There's not a hotel within
forty miles of here. Miss Esther's isn't even open half the time. The men you
take hunting could stay there at the first. Later, when there's more to do,
they could bring their families. And the wife and kids would have plenty to do
while they hunt. Just imagine, staying in a real ghost town. We could have a
pool and make the saloon a restaurant and maybe even have shows."

"Whoa,
slow down, pardner." Shep threw up his hands. "When you get on a
horse, you ride it hard, don't you?"

"It's
just something I think would fly It would take some checking out, for sure, but
I could do that for you... get statistics, find out the pros and cons—"

"Not
if you're going back to New York."

The
laconic reply pulled the rug out from under Deanna's excitement. She could do
it from New York... if she wasn't rubbed out by thugs or put in jail by the
authorities.

"Well,
look who we have here," someone exclaimed, breaking the charged silence at
the table.

Reverend
Lawrence stood next to their booth holding his dinner tray Next to him was a
petite woman with a sweet, grandmotherly smile and gorgeous white hair.

"Ruth,
this is Miss Manetti, the young lady who came up with the idea for the
roof-raising contest. The word's out, and we've got more volunteers than we
need," the reverend exclaimed in delight. "Miss Manetti, this is my
better half, Ruth."

Deanna
received a warm handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs.—"

"Ruth,
dear. Or if you must, Miss Ruth will do." The spritelike twinkle in Ruth's
eyes and the lotion softness of her hands reminded Deanna instantly of Gram.

"Miss
Ruth, Reverend, sit down and join us," Shep offered after introductions
were made.

"Thanks,
but no thanks, son," the reverend said. "After forty-two years, I've
learned that every once in a while it's good to take Ruth for a big night out,
just the two of us." He gave his petite wife a squeeze with his arm.
"And this is it, so you folks'll just have to make do on your own."

Deanna
watched as the minister found a table and helped Ruth to her seat before taking
his own. "They are precious," she marveled as the pair shared one
extra large slush with two straws. "With that snow white hair and those
twinkling blue eyes, they look like a matched set. Even her dress is the same
shade of blue as his collared shirt. Guess they're among those lucky ones who
met and married their match."

Would
she ever sit across a restaurant booth some day with her match mate?

Deanna
glanced back at Shep, surprised to see him contemplating her. Was there a
kindred thought behind those gorgeous, incredibly intense eyes, or was it just
a renegade French fry that caused the quickening in her gut?

"You
got a little sun today."

It
was a fry. At least the sun exposure would cover the heat that crept to her
cheeks as she pretended to study her lightly pinkened arm.

"At
least it doesn't clash with my outfit." She pointed to the gaudy
pink-and-lime polka dot of her hand-me-down capris, a grin masking her
melancholy. A body would have to be blind not to see how mismatched she and
Shepard Jones were.

"Maybe
we should pick up some suntan lotion while we're at it."

"What,
you think I'll be around long enough to get a good tan?"

She
was grasping at straws and for what? Her muscles ached. She thought the habits
of horses were disgusting. She was a fish out of water.

Because
in spite of all of the above, another argued, she was enjoying her venture into
rustic living under Shep's watchful eye. Granted, it was usually a grumpy eye,
but at least she had his attention. And he had apologized.

"Are
you through?" He nodded at her half-eaten sandwich and the few remaining
fries.

"I
filled up on soda, I guess." The hot and cold ebb and flow of her emotions
had dashed her appetite along with the fleeting sparks of hope. "Speaking
of which, I'd better check out the little girls' room."

She
started to gather up her trash, when Shep preempted her. "I'll get it. You
go on. I thought we'd stop by the garage on the way home and see if Charlie's
had any luck finding those parts for your car."

Why
don't you just crank him up on your radio?
Whenever she forgot there was no
chance for a future at Hopewell, Shep was quick on the draw to remind her.
Keeping the acrid thought to herself, Deanna retreated to the bathroom door,
punching it open. One minute she thought he wanted her to stay, the next, he
made it obvious he wanted her to leave. Plucking petals from a daisy was more
reliable than the mixed signals she detected.

Shep
stood talking to the Lawrences when she emerged. Refusing to become one of
those women who cried their hearts out in the ladies' room, she'd fortified
herself by a mental vent of her exasperation with the man. And he didn't even
know he'd been told off.

She
listened as they fixed the date of the roof raising to coordinate with the end
of one of the area's big roundups. Ruth had a handle on the women's end of
things—food, bake and craft tables, and entertainment and game booths for the children.
Beneath that grandma exterior, Deanna sensed executive material.

"So
what do you think of the West, dear?" the reverend's wife asked when all
the bases for the fund-raiser had been covered.

"It's
definitely not home, but it has its pluses."

Reverend
Lawrence patted her on the arm. "Just remember, Miss Manetti, home is
where the heart is."

"Or
where you hang your hat." Shep tipped his to Mrs. Lawrence. "Folks,
we'll see you tomorrow in church."