Trouble At Lone Spur (6 page)

On the rodeo circuit, where men’s egos were bigger than their hat size and belt buckles combined, a challenge of this nature always ended in a brawl. Liz had learned to keep quiet. Too many times she’d seen situations
in which a woman tried to mediate, only to have a fist fight erupt. She reached for the screen door. Let them bay at the moon. By nightfall, she’d be history here. Unexpectedly the door flew out of her hand and Melody hurtled out. She threw her arms around her mother’s waist and sobbed. “I saw you and Mr. Spencer talkin’. Didja tell him we don’t want to leave, Mom? Say please. You told me ‘please’ always works.”

Liz’s heart wilted. Dropping to one knee, she gathered Melody into her arms. “Honey…” she said brokenly. But no explanation made its way to her tongue.
Talk about egos.
Gil Spencer had offered a reprieve and she’d turned him down flat. True, it had only been for nine months, but that was nine months in which to check out other jobs in the area. Liz hadn’t really considered Melody’s feelings when she’d thrown Spencer’s offer back in his face to salve her own pride. Now she had to eat her words.

Straightening, Liz lifted Melody’s chin. “Dry your eyes,” she said in a voice that carried. “Mr. Spencer brought back the library book you left in the barn. And…he asked me to shoe some horses in the east pasture. Hurry, go saddle Babycakes. I doubt he’s one to pay his farriers to stand around.”

The wranglers were quick to jump on the out Liz provided. Crowding Gil, they asked why he hadn’t said in the first place that he’d rehired her. The three men lost no time making tracks out of Liz’s yard. If Gil hadn’t been so dumbfounded, he might have laughed.

Liz let Melody work through her excitement without comment. She felt Spencer’s eyes boring holes in her back and heard him dusting his Stetson rhythmically against his lean thigh. She didn’t turn to meet his gaze until Melody had dashed off to the barn to saddle her
pony. Actually Liz waited another moment to see if the cadence of the tapping changed from irritation to resignation. It didn’t. So she fixed a smile on her lips before facing him.

Tap, tap, tap.
“What happened to ‘not on your life’?”

Liz tossed her head defiantly. “I changed my mind.”

“I don’t recall asking you to shoe any horses in the east pasture.”
Tap, tap, tap.

She shrugged. “They’re from your remuda. Rafe assigned me the job on Thursday.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Was a slower rhythm better? Unsure, Liz stood her ground. Lo and behold, the tapping stopped, and she felt the muscles in her jaw relax.

“Did Rafe also tell you we have a ridge runner raiding mares up that way?” Gil stopped messing with his Stetson and put it on.

Liz tensed again, knowing a ridge runner was what breeders called a rogue stallion. “No. But he said the horses I’m supposed to shoe are all geldings. I’ll be driving my pickup, and I doubt a stallion would bother Melody’s pony.”

“Wild stallions are totally unpredictable. Dangerous. Plus, we’ve got a marauding cougar staking his claim in those foothills. He kills just to be killing.”

“Are you trying to scare me, Mr. Spencer? It’s dangerous going to bed at night, what with all the snakes and bats that find their way into the cottage.”

Gil tugged at his hat brim to hide his discomfort. So, Mrs. Robbins had a dry wit? A trait Gil liked in the men he hired. Why, then, did the fact that she possessed a sense of humor bug him? “Well,” he said gruffly, “since I’m here, I may as well go ahead and flush those critters out of your bedroom.”

Liz stepped back to accommodate his large frame, which suddenly dwarfed her small porch. “What critters?”

“The bats. I assume you shut the door and slept elsewhere last night.”

“You assumed wrong. I shooed them out the window with a broom. You think I wanted bat poop on my new rug and newly papered walls? Even at that, I was up washing and scrubbing till nearly four. Who knows what germs bats carry? I’m surprised you’d allow the boys to handle them. They might have been bitten.”

Picturing her going after bats with a broom prompted Gil’s lazy smile. Irritation at her insinuation that he condoned the twins’ nocturnal activities made it slip. “To quote Dustin, boys are too smart to get bitten. I won’t mention his thoughts on girls, but it’s another reason the boys are spending a Saturday morning in their room. I don’t
allow
them to do things that are harmful or disrespectful.”

Liz barely heard his words. She’d gotten hung up on the brief peek at his smile. What a shame he didn’t let it surface more often. If he did, she thought, there’d be nothing a woman could refuse him. Some men smiled with only their lips. Some let it reach their eyes, and that was better. A very few had killer smiles that came from the heart. Corbett had been one, and so, apparently, was Gil Spencer. However brief that grin, it left Liz weak at the knees. A funny flutter in her stomach drove her to sit down on the old porch swing.

“Mrs. Robbins…is something wrong?” Gil asked, abruptly breaking off his explanation concerning his theories on discipline.

“Wrong?” Liz blinked at him, her eyes sort of distant and unfocused.

“Here comes your daughter on her pony. Maybe you should reconsider making that run to the east pasture today. It doesn’t sound as if you got much sleep.”

Liz tore her gaze from his face. “I’m fine.” She stood and walked to the end of the porch, away from him. She was about to suggest that Melody ride in the cab and lead the pony behind the pickup, when Gil spoke quietly from behind her.

“I believe I’ll saddle up and ride out that way, too. It’s been a while since I checked fence along the river.”

Melody reached them in time to hear his statement. “Oh, goody. Can the twins come? They said there’s a place on the river to catch crawdads.” She flashed Gil a shy smile. “My mom won’t let me swim less’n I’m with a grown-up.”

It had been on the tip of Gil’s tongue to say the boys would have to miss the fun. But all at once he wondered if he couldn’t teach them more by being a role model than in leaving them alone to stew. “Right she is, young lady. If the boys led you to believe I let them go alone, they fibbed.” He ran one hand through his hair. “I
was
going to make them stay home—but I’ve changed my mind.”

Melody glanced at her mother. “Is it okay if I take my swimsuit then?”

Lizbeth hesitated, still thinking resentfully about the Lone Spur’s owner tagging along. She’d bet dimes to doughnuts that he planned to hang over her shoulder.

“I promise there’ll be no bats or snakes or skunks, Mrs. Robbins,” Gil said in a calm voice. “And the river at that point is only knee-deep.” He looked up at the lowriding sun. “We’ll have frost on the pumpkins before long. You might want to take a suit and dip your own toes.”

“I’m going up there to do a job,” she said stiffly. “When I’m on company time, shoeing horses is all I do.”

Gil backed off, touched the brim of his hat and nodded curtly. What had he been thinking to suggest she join them? He certainly didn’t want to give her the impression that he mixed business and pleasure. Or that he was in the habit of letting women intrude on his outings with his sons. Once, he
had
included a woman. His wife. Too late he’d learned that she wasn’t interested in spending any time alone with her husband and sons. “You two go on ahead.” He stepped off the porch and didn’t look back.

Liz saw by the way the light went out of Melody’s eyes that she was disappointed. However, the arrangement suited Liz. The less time she spent around any of the Spencers, the better. “We don’t need company to have fun, Mel. Take a book and a doll like you always do. I’ll fix a lunch for us to eat down by the river.”

“But I want to swim and catch crawdads with the twins.” Melody’s eyes brimmed with new tears. “I didn’t mean to make Mr. Spencer mad.”

“Sweetheart!” Liz hurried down the steps and clutched her daughter’s knee. “It wasn’t you. What I said more than likely reminded Mr. Spencer that he’s the boss, and I’m just a hired hand.”

“So?” Melody continued to look stricken.

“Well, ah…honey. I don’t know how to explain social hierarchy to you. When you grow up, you’ll understand.”

“If it means you and me always got to be alone, I don’t wanna understand. The other day at school we hadda learn how to spell ‘family.’ My teacher showed pictures of moms, dads and kids. Gretchen Bodine don’t got a mom or dad. She’s got two grandmas, two grandpas,
three brothers and a sister. That’s a family, too, Miss Woodson said. And…and I want one!”

“Melody Robbins. We’re a family, you and I. And we have Hoot, don’t we? He already sent you a postcard. Honey, I thought you understood why I can’t give you brothers and sisters—because your daddy’s in heaven.” Liz tried a new tack. “You finally got a kitten. And we’ve got our own house. That’s a start, Mel.”

“But I’m gonna be a pumpkin in the Halloween play,” the girl blurted. “Families get to come. Not kittens. Not Hoot. He’s gonna be at the rodeo in Kilgore.”

“I’m afraid you lost me somewhere, honey. How did we get from crawdad hunting with the Spencer twins to your Halloween play?”

“Rusty and Dusty don’t got no mom, and I don’t got no dad. We could be a family. The boys liked your cooking. And their dad loved your cookies.”

“Oh, no!” Liz gasped. She hadn’t had an inkling that such an idea lurked in her daughter’s head. “Melody, baby, you can’t just pick up stray people like you do stray kittens and make them part of your family.”

“Why not?” A tear caught in thick lashes, then trickled down a round cheek.

“Well, because…because…” Liz puffed out her lungs and expelled the drawn breath on a sigh. “Because you just can’t. And whatever you do, promise me you’ll never bring up this subject with Mr. Spencer or his sons.”

“But how will they think of it on their own? Boys only ever think about horses and food and stuff like that.”

“Never, Melody. Is that understood?” Liz pursed her lips.

“All right. But gee whiz.”

“Never!”

“O…kay. But will you make enough sandwiches for them? On your homemade bread? And take the rest of the cupcakes. Please, Mom.”

“Melody Lorraine. I can see the wheels turning. You will not lure the Spencers with food. Where on earth are you getting this nonsense? Certainly not from me.”

“Am I in trouble?” The child sniffled. “You only call me Melody Lorraine when you’re really, really mad.”

Liz threw up her hands. “No, I’m not mad at you. I just want to make sure you know I’m dead serious about this, Mel.”

“All right. But jeez!” With that, she slid off her pony and plunked down on the porch steps to wait, chin in hands.

Thinking it best to let matters drop, Liz went inside and slapped together some sandwiches. She made enough for five people, but she used store-bought bread. The cupcakes needed to be eaten, so she did put them in, as well as a big package of trail mix. If she had her way, she’d feed the Spencers sour green apples. Or maybe not. She liked to cook, and the boys had certainly scarfed down supper last night. Liz didn’t know whether the twins lacked a mother through divorce or through death. Either way, it wasn’t their fault. How could she begrudge lonely children a simple meal? She knew all too well what loneliness was like.

She secured the house, then put the picnic basket and a jug of cold water in the cab of the pickup. Although she gave Melody a head start, she still had to drive slowly. The pony had short legs. That was probably why the Spencers caught up with them well before they reached the river. Markedly subdued, the boys both muttered apologies of sorts.

Dusty and Rusty rode a matched set of well-gaited buckskin geldings. They were small, but not as small as Melody’s Welsh pony. Gil Spencer rode a powerful bay gelding, instead of his injured mare.

The three children met and galloped off in the lead. Gil tipped his hat to Liz and cantered past without saying a word, even though she had her pickup window rolled down. She was so busy admiring the way he sat a horse that she almost broke an axle driving across a rocky arroyo. Darn, but she was a sucker for the way a man—a good rider like Gil Spencer—looked on his horse. He had an easy fluid grace that Liz considered the trademark of a real cowboy. The gelding recognized his mastery, too. He responded to the slightest touch of his rider’s heel or knee.

The boys, now, were learning, and they were perpetual motion in their saddles. She could see daylight between rump and saddle. Liz grinned to herself. Melody was the more polished rider by far. She could handle a bigger horse. Deserved one.

The salary that went with this job was more than adequate to provide for their needs, and maybe there’d be enough left over each month to start saving for a couple of really nice horses.

Speaking of horses, off to her left, ankle-deep in grass, stood thirty or so buckskins, the sleek well-proportioned animals that put Spencer’s name in the horse breeders’ registry. Liz slowed her pickup to a crawl. The land they’d just gone through was barren and dry. These grassy knolls, outlined in a patchwork of fences, had obviously been seeded and irrigated. She’d guess it hadn’t been an easy matter to pump water uphill from the river she could see winding through the stand of cottonwoods far below.

Gil noticed that she’d slowed almost to a stop. Turning, he galloped back. “Is everything okay? You crack the oil pan when you bottomed out back there?”

Just as Liz thought—nothing got by Gil Spencer. For that reason she didn’t make excuses, only laughed. “For a few seconds I wondered that myself. But my pickup’s running fine. I’m just admiring the scenery. Your irrigation setup took some ingenious engineering.”

Gil thumbed back his hat, rested his forearm on the saddle horn and surveyed the pasture all around him. “I’m afraid I see five years of backbreaking work—not to mention buckets of money that both my dad and Ginger accused me of pouring down the drain.”

“Ginger?” She’d noticed a bitter edge in his voice when he said the name. Liz knew someone named Ginger—but no, it was too much of a coincidence to think she’d be one and the same person. Maybe his dad’s second wife? “A wicked stepmother, I presume,” she teased lightly.