Trouble At Lone Spur (28 page)

G
IL STALKED UP
the front steps, his tread deliberately measured as he passed the housekeeper. Backing up, he said, “Mrs. Morley, you’re fired. I’ll draw your check
when I finish speaking with Ms. Lawrence.” Ignoring the woman’s indignant sputter, he entered the living room, where Ginger lounged on the couch.

“I’d like a word with you—in my office.” Gil waited as she took her sweet time. He pointedly shut the door. “It’s time for you to pack and leave,” he said calmly. “And where in hell is Lizbeth?” he asked, his tone a shade more demanding.

Ginger’s face contorted as she stamped a booted foot. Almost before Gil saw what was coming, she snatched up a genuine Frederic Remington bronze sculpture and heaved it at him. He ducked in time, although it gouged a hole in the wall. She proceeded to spew unkind names in a shrill voice and wound down threatening murder, kidnapping and all manner of lawsuits.

Gil dodged a clay ashtray made by one of the boys. He drew the line when she grabbed a watercolor of Night Fire the Littlefields had given him last Christmas. “What did you think?” he shouted. “That I’d take you back, and everything would be hunky-dory? Anything we felt for each other died years ago, and you damn well know it. Suppose you cut to the chase and tell me why you’re putting on this act?”

“I want my babies, Gil. A mother has a right to see her kids.”

“Then buy a house where they’ll have decent beds. We’ll work out visitations for vacations and holidays. They deserve a home, Ginger, not living like nomads.”

“Sure. Buy a house, just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “You cheated me in the divorce settlement, Gil. I know now what the Lone Spur’s really worth, so don’t try and lie to me again.”

“Is this about money, Ginger, or the boys?”

“It’s about you giving me a fair share.”

He sat down and wrote her a check for fifty thousand dollars. “The ranch was on the rocks when you left me with two babies to raise. I busted my butt to build the place up. Use this as a down payment on a reasonably priced home. Then show me you mean to make a go of it, and I’ll even pay off the rest of your mortgage. Take it or leave it,” he said coldly. “It’s more than you deserve, and we both know it.”

He watched as she folded the check and stuck it in her shirt pocket with a smirk.

“You have a filly and a colt I want, too.” She described Lizbeth’s weanlings to a tee. “You’re worth a fortune now, Gil. I can and will cause trouble in court. How do you think the judge would feel about the weekend trip you took with your little farrier? Pete Markham mentioned he’d seen the two of you when I picked up his mare the other day.”

Gil felt a kick to his midsection, but he didn’t blink. “The horses you want aren’t mine to give. I’m sure you know damn well I’ve already given them to Lizbeth. Pick two others. Night Fire’s issue all have papers.”

Ginger whined, threatened and cajoled. Gil sat dispassionately through her tirade. Money and horses—they were always the answer with Ginger. Her daddy had done a good job of teaching her to think the world owed her a living. Too bad he went belly-up in one too many real-estate scams and landed in jail.

It galled Gil to dicker, but perhaps that was a small price to be rid of her deceitful meddling. “That black colt you think you want will never be put to stud. He’s the son of a rogue stallion. Technically he’s not worth zip.”

“Okay,” she said, pouting. “I’ll take two of Night Fire’s foals. I also want the gold-and-diamond spur when you get it back. You know I’ve always hankered after it.”
“No. Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

When she saw he didn’t intend to budge, Ginger said she’d go pack her things and meet him in the barn. “I’ll be needing a horse trailer, as well.”

Gil escorted her to the door. “I’ll tell Rafe to
lend
you a trailer. And now there’s something I want. Tell me exactly what you said to drive Lizbeth away.”

She smirked again, spun away and ran up the stairs.

He went back to his office, deciding to call off the damned detective she’d hired. The thought of Ginger’s taking ranch matters into her own hands made his blood boil. The minute he’d shown Rafe which horses to give Ginger, he’d go out and beat the bushes looking for Lizbeth himself. Her friend—that rodeo clown, Hoot something—maybe he’d know where to find her. Convinced it would be a simple matter of explaining to Lizbeth what had gone on in his absence, Gil set about straightening the office. Truth be known, he’d rather have Ginger off the ranch before he did anything about finding Lizbeth.

Gil left his office, check in hand for Mrs. Morley, in time to see his ex depart via the front door, carrying a load of expensive luggage. In Ginger’s haste, she nearly bowled over a tall slightly stoop-shouldered older man. A stranger, Gil saw before the door slammed. A horse buyer? He waited a moment, although he wasn’t feeling very sociable. He heard the murmur of voices, but as the bell didn’t ring he decided it was someone Ginger knew. Shrugging, he went to deal with the Morley woman.

“Excuse me, miss.” The man on the porch doffed his hat and backed away from the woman with the flame-colored hair. “I’m looking for Gilman Spencer. Could you tell me where I might find him?”

Ginger brushed past him, then stopped. “Why do you want Gilman?”

“It’s personal business concerning my daughter,” he said politely. “Lizbeth Robbins,” he added as the silence stretched.

Ginger cast a quick glance at the tightly closed door. “I’m
Mrs.
Spencer,” she said, lowering her voice. “Gilman’s wife. Exactly where is Lizbeth? She stole a valuable piece of jewelry from my husband before she left the Lone Spur.”

“Stole? A piece of jewelry, you say?”

“A gold spur on a key chain. The spur’s inside a horseshoe and studded with diamonds. It’s an heirloom, crafted from a solid gold nugget. It has a great deal of sentimental value to the family. We’ve contacted the authorities. I’m afraid Gilman’s quite upset with your daughter. You may want to postpone your visit, Mr…?”

“I…I believe you may be right, Mrs. Spencer. Now is probably not a good time to talk with your husband. I’ll drop by some other day.”

Ginger watched him hurry down the steps and climb into a waiting car. Just before he shut his door, she called, “Do tell Lizbeth what a pickle she’s in, won’t you?”

L
IZBETH STARED
out the kitchen window at the lane leading to the paddocks. Coffee cooled in her cup. She should be helping her mother pack for their upcoming move as Melody was doing, but she lacked the energy for it. She lacked the energy for everything. The barns and fences needed a coat of paint before the old place was turned over to a new owner. The farm, which had always been so pristine, looked shabby. Was this her fault, too? Had her parents spent so much money trying to locate her that they’d neglected the farm’s upkeep? And
where was her dad? Away on business, her mother said. Lizbeth couldn’t ever remember him being gone for more than a day when she was younger. Counting today, he’d been absent three full days.

Her folks had begged Liz and Melody to move with them to the condo they’d leased in town. Did her father’s sudden trip concern money? If not, why weren’t they buying a place?

Lizbeth felt like she was being sucked down a rabbit hole. If only she could stop thinking about Gil and how much she missed him. How much she missed everything back at the Lone Spur. She pulled out his key chain and cradled it in her palm. Mailing it back would sever her last tie to Gilman Spencer. Perhaps then she’d get out of this uncharacteristic depression.

Toliver Whitley found her in exactly that same spot an hour later, still clutching the gold piece. “What’s that you have, Lizbeth?” he queried sharply, letting his garment bag slap against the fridge.

Liz jerked and dropped the spur. “I, uh, nothing,” she said as she scooped it up and rose to kiss his cheek. “Something I need to wrap and mail.”

“No! Don’t do that. Throw it away.”

“Father? I know you never approved of wasting money on jewelry. But—”

“Listen to me.” He pulled out a chair, tossed his bag over the table and sat across from her. “I know you longed for pretty things growing up. Your mother and I…well, we were brought up strict and we thought it was the right way to raise our only daughter. I never meant to drive you away.”

She nodded and patted his hand. “I know that now.”

“Well know this. Whatever it takes, your mother and I will defend you against any charges of having stolen that bauble.”

Liz jumped up. “What are you talking about? I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

Sighing, the elder Whitley loosened his tie. “Lizbeth. I…I know you took the key chain from Gilman Spencer. The authorities know, too.”

“This? I didn’t steal it. Gil gave it to me. For luck, when I went into the tunnel after Dusty. Dad, why would you think I took it, for heaven’s sake?”

Pouring a cup of coffee, he sat and let the story flow, beginning with how Melody wanted with all her heart to go back to the Lone Spur—and how she’d begged for his help. How he’d taken it upon himself to visit the Lone Spur.

The longer Liz listened, the angrier she got. Her temper had quite a head on it by the time he finished. “Let me get this straight. You decided I’m moping around because I didn’t want to leave Gil. You went to the ranch to smooth things out, met Ginger, and she filled your ear with some preposterous lie. And as a result, you’ve concluded I had an affair with a married man—and that I walked off with the Spencer family jewels?” She inhaled deeply and waved her arms in a wild gesture. “Well, thanks a lot, Pop.”

Mrs. Whitley poked her head into the kitchen to see what all the yelling was about. Her husband reached out and clasped Liz’s hand. “Put like that, it sounds silly. Obviously I’ve been duped.”

“Obviously. And me, too. The worm. The snake. For your information, he’s not married to that viper. They’re divorced. Now I see they’re two of a kind. How could I have fallen in love with such a louse? Set the law on me,
will he?” Jumping up, she began to pace. “I’ll give this back all right. I’ll take it to the Lone Spur and stuff it down Gilman Spencer’s throat, chain and all. Will you watch Melody for me?”

Her mother looked bewildered. “Toliver. Would someone please tell me what’s going on? Oh, Melody, dear.” The older woman glanced up in time to see the child fly through the door and into her mother’s arms. Melody began to wail.

With all the crying, it was a wonder Mrs. Whitley heard the doorbell. But she did, and made her way through the boxes she’d started to pack. She opened it at last to reveal a lean auburn-haired stranger and two freckle-faced boys, who looked like matched pearls on a string.

“Mrs. Whitley?”

“Yes.” Her gaze traveled up a long way, to the man’s gold-flecked eyes.

“My name is Gilman Spencer. These are my sons, Russell and Dustin. We’re looking for Lizbeth Robbins, ma’am.”

“And Melody,” one of the boys piped up.

Lizbeth’s mother smiled when the second boy gouged the first one with his unbandaged elbow. “They’d be together, bat-brain. Melody ain’t goin’ nowhere without her mom, you know.”

“Boys.” Gil tapped them each with his Stetson and offered the woman an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to bust in on you like this, but I’m desperate to find Lizbeth. Hoot Bell hasn’t seen them. She gave me your address once. I…well, this is my last hope. After that, I’m hiring a detective.”

Toliver Whitley left the kitchen in time to hear the conversation at the door. “Hire a hundred detectives, young fella. You’ve wasted a trip. She’s not here.”

His wife looked agog at her husband as he tried to rudely slam the door.

Disappointed beyond belief, Gil blocked its closing with a palm. “I know things are strained between you and Lizbeth, sir. When I find her—once I do and we get married—all that will change. Our door at the Lone Spur will always be open to Lizbeth’s family.” Resettling his hat, Gil turned his sons away.

“Wait!” Lizbeth’s father opened the screen. “Married? You intend to marry Lizbeth?”

“Yes. I do. We do. Isn’t that right, boys?” Gil ruffled both boys’ hair. Hair that needed cutting.

“Yep,” they said simultaneously. “We want her back.”

Mr. Whitley opened the screen wider. Before he could actually invite them in, Melody dashed headlong into the room. She skidded to a stop beside her grandmother. “Hot diggity dog! Rusty and Dusty!” she yelped. “You did it, grandfather! You did it.”

The boys rushed to greet her. “We came to get you and your mom,” Rusty said. “Dad borrowed Mr. Littlefield’s airplane. Flying is cool. You’ll see.”

Melody slipped her hand into her grandfather’s wrinkled one. “Can my grandmother and grandfather come, too? She cooks good. I bet they’d watch us after school. Her and Grandfather need someplace to live.”

“Now wait a minute, young lady,” Toliver Whitley said with a laugh. “Somehow I don’t think Mr. Spencer came to woo an extended family. Call your mother, why don’t you? Is she still in the kitchen?”

“What’s woo, Dad?” Rusty screwed up his face. “Chinese food?” he asked hopefully.

Gil laughed. “You see?” he said to Lizbeth’s father. “This is just part of what Lizbeth and I have had to contend with.”

Liz came through the door, saw Gil and stopped dead. “You…you jerk. I can’t believe you claimed I stole this.” She dug the key ring out of her pocket and smacked it into his hand. “It must be valuable if you came all the way to Kentucky to get it.” Her eyes glittered with anger.

So did Gil’s. “I don’t give a damn about that, Lizbeth. I came to Kentucky to give you this—and ask you to be my wife.” He hooked the golden spur over his thumb, dug into his jeans watch pocket and removed the ring with the rare pink diamond. When he held it out, Gil enjoyed watching Lizbeth’s eyes widen.

“It’s the ring I saw in that jewelry store in Fort Worth. But how did you know I liked it? I never said a word.”

He took her left hand and slipped the ring on her third finger. “I’m not sure you want me to say how I knew in front of an audience.”

Liz blinked up from the sparkling gem. Her family and his had mysteriously disappeared. “What audience? I think my parents took the kids into the kitchen to bribe them with apple pie.”