Trouble At Lone Spur (8 page)

“Whoa!” Gil tightened the reins. Liz’s foot slipped from its tenuous position in the stirrup and smacked the bay’s belly, causing him to do a little bucking.

Liz tucked her thumbs gingerly under Gil’s belt loops, then felt one break and give way. Self-preservation had her flinging her arms tight around his waist and burying her nose in the center of his back.

Gil felt her heart hammering against his backbone. The unexpected tensile strength in the slender arms circling his waist, along with an engulfing cloud of her perfume, precipitated a shocking swell against his jeans zipper. “Whoa, dammit,” he shouted at the bay, “or I’m going to feed you to the buzzards.” Then, fearing that his frantic threats revealed the agony he experienced each time he landed against the pommel, Gil let the fool horse buck out.

The kids’ gleeful whooping and hollering prolonged the calamity. Twice Liz felt herself bounce. Once she thought for sure she was going flying. She wrapped her legs tightly around Gil’s thighs and clung like Spider Woman to a wall. It ended a few seconds later. The horse stopped and quietly flicked his ears. Still shaken, the riders were left to untangle their limbs.

“Sorry,” Liz murmured as Gil lifted her left calf off his knee. She loosened her stranglehold on his waist, but wadded his shirt tight in both hands in case the horse surprised them again.

“Are you all right?” Gil asked Liz after he warned the three kids to hush. He should be okay—now that she’d freed him. But for some reason his body had other ideas. Ideas it expressed all too insistently. Shifting carefully, Gil forced himself to turn and see how she’d fared. If not for the hats that kept them apart, she sat so close their lips would’ve brushed. Gil fought an urge to close the gap.

Liz shook like a novice circus flier facing her first high wire—until she noticed Dustin’s face all but telling her to keep her hands off his dad. “Sideshow’s over,” she announced briskly. “Let’s go or we’ll miss seeing the wild stallion.” She was careful to release Gil’s shirt and find purchase on the saddle.

Stung by her coolness, Gil spoke sharply to the kids. “Stallions spook easily. Pipe down. We don’t want him to think we’re a threat to his herd.”

“I thought you and Rafe were going to capture him, Dad.” One of the twins reined in beside Gil.

“Not that wily son of a gun. The best we’ve been able to do is steal back some of our mares. As Rafe says, it’s more that we enjoy the chase.”

The boy cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

Liz couldn’t see Gil smile, but she was positive he did.

“I think you’ll understand when you see him, son. He’s wild and he’s dangerous, but some animals are born to be free. So don’t even think about trying to track him. If you’re out riding and he shows up, leave. Don’t ever underestimate him.”

“Where did he come from?” Melody asked.

Gil hunched a shoulder. “Nobody knows. He just appeared one day a couple of years ago. Frankly I wish he’d picked somebody else’s ranch.”

After that, Gil motioned with his finger against his lips for silence. He took the lead as they rode single file through a narrow cut in a rise. When they came out on a promontory beneath a row of gnarled mesquite trees, Gil indicated that everyone should dismount. Quickly and impersonally, he handed Liz down. He sat on the bay an extra moment to clear her perfume from his head. Then he dropped down and crept to the edge of the outcropping.

Moving in beside him, Liz caught her breath. Below, in a green valley split by the river, grazed a small herd. Across from his observers on a matching promontory stood the most regal horse she’d ever seen. Coal black, his coat gleamed blue in places. The wind ruffled a mane that nearly swept his knees and his finely arched tail
brushed the ground. He wasn’t Arabian, although Liz would bet Arabian blood flowed in his veins.

“What’s his name?” she whispered.

“He has many,” Gil murmured. “I call him Wind Dancer. The few times I’ve given chase, he’s disappeared as if the wind lent wings to his feet.” He broke off, apparently embarrassed by his unexpectedly poetic words.

“Yes.” Still considering his description, she nodded. “I can imagine him in flight.” Eyes shining, she clutched Gil’s sleeve. “It’s a perfect name.”

One of the boys—Dustin, no doubt—wriggled in between them. “I’d call him Darth Vader,” he announced gruffly. “He’s black as night. Looks scary. And you said not to trust him.”

The stallion must have sensed their presence, or maybe he heard the boy. At any rate, he rose on his hind legs, gave an almost eerie whistle that rode the faint breeze, and like magic, the herd dissolved before their eyes.

“Wow!” Melody exclaimed softly. “Where’d they go?”

“Into the foothills and on up to the caves in the canyons beyond,” Gil said, straightening and dusting off his knees.

“Caves?” Melody asked, obviously interested.

“We can’t go there,” Rusty cautioned. “The cougar lives there.”

“Can, too, if we go with Dad,” Dustin put in. “Rafe said maybe some weekend soon we can go with him and Dad when they go huntin’ that old cat.”

Gil had just climbed aboard the bay and helped Liz up behind him. She heard him sigh deeply.

“Don’t even think about it, boys. I can’t imagine why Rafe would suggest such a thing. All the crazy stuff he’s done lately, I wonder if the man’s gone loco.”

Liz knew one of those crazy things was Rafe’s hiring her.

Dustin flung himself on the buckskin, his lower lip stuck out in a sulk. “Rafe don’t treat us like babies.”

“Well, son, you’ve certainly been acting like one lately,” Gil said in the tone that warned he was running short on patience.

“Have not!” Dustin shouted so loudly all the horses flattened their ears. “I wish I’d stayed in my room, instead of comin’ along on this sissy ride.” He dug his heels into his mount’s side and tore off along the fence row.

“Dammit,” Gil swore. “Sorry,” he said to Liz. “I’d let him go, except he’s liable to kill himself and the horse.”

Nodding, Liz gripped his waist. Even then, he took off so fast she had to slide her arms more firmly around him to keep from being unseated.

They overtook the boy in short order. “Pull up, Dustin,” Gil ordered.

Scowling, the child slapped his reins against the buckskin’s neck and edged ahead by a nose.

Gil barely signaled his mount. As the big horse surged forward, the man leaned out of the saddle and grabbed the buckskin’s reins just below the bit. “I said pull up!”

Liz felt Gil’s muscles bunch beneath her hands as he hauled both snorting horses to a standstill.

“Dustin Lawrence Spencer, what in blazes has come over you? The rest of us are going to the river to swim and catch crawdads. You, young man, will sit on the bank and twiddle your thumbs.”

Dusty’s face turned ugly again. “I don’t care! I don’t care!” he yelled. “You and Rusty only wanna show off in front of dumb ol’ girls. I wish they hadn’t come to our ranch. I hate them and I hate you.”

Tears made dirty tracks down his cheeks, but Liz didn’t think he was crying. She felt Gil’s sharp intake of breath and knew he was about to erupt. She touched his upper arm briefly. “I imagine you two would like to settle this in private. If you let me down, I’ll walk back and meet Rusty and Melody.”

Gil frowned, but he saw the value in her suggestion. In fact, he should have thought of it himself. But Dustin’s temper tantrum threw him for a loop. If his son pulled this crap at school, no wonder the teacher needed a conference. All he managed to do was nod. Belatedly he offered her a hand, but she’d already slid to the ground. Hells bells, what must she think? Of him and his brood?

Taking a deep breath, Gil tried to moderate his approach. “I’ve been pretty involved with fall roundup, son. Are you and Rusty feeling neglected?” Gil hoped that if he included Rusty, Dustin wouldn’t think he was being singled out. The boy’s behavior had him truly concerned.

Dusty refused to look at his dad, nor did he speak.

“This didn’t start out as a pleasure trip.” Gil tried again. “Mrs. Robbins came to shoe horses and I needed to check fence. I thought since we hadn’t spent much time together, you boys might like to tag along and take a last run by the river before winter sets in.”

“Ben told Luke you fired Mrs. Robbins.” The words shot out as if blasted from a cannon.

“Well, Ben was wrong.” Gil didn’t intend to discuss reversing his decision with Ben or his sons any more than
he had with his wranglers. “Why do you dislike Mrs. Robbins? Has she treated you badly?”

Dustin buried his chin in his chest and shook his head.

“Does Melody make a pest of herself at school?”

“While you were ridin’ fence, Rusty asked
her
to teach him how to rope. I said Shorty’s s’pose to teach us, but Russ went off with Melody, anyway. I’ll have to ‘splain to everybody why my dumb brother ropes like a girl.”

“Ah. How do girls rope differently from boys?”

“You know…prissy. Like the way they throw a baseball and stuff.”

“Well, Dustin, should that be true, and it’s not, it would be Russell’s problem, not yours. An old accepted response is simply ‘I’m not my brother’s keeper.’”

Dustin slanted him a peeved look from beneath suntipped lashes. “We’re more’n brothers, dad. Sheesh, we’re twins.”

“Nothing—neither being a twin or a male—is license for the way you’re acting. I see your brother and Melody have caught up. We’re not going to discuss this any more right now, but I promise you it’s far from over.” Gil handed back the reins and forced his son to meet a gaze that said he’d better shape up or else.

The boy wisely held his tongue. Shoulders slumped, he plodded on ahead while Gil returned to pick up Liz.

“I better go see Dusty,” Russell said, nervously eyeing his father.

“No,” Gil snapped. He gave Liz a hand up. “Dustin needs to cool off. We’ll drop Mrs. Robbins at her truck and head for the river. Your brother won’t be wading or catching crawdads. And you will not crow or otherwise rub it in. Is that understood?”

“I wouldn’t do that, Dad. Neither would Melody.” Rusty’s lip trembled.

Gil cleared his throat. “See that you don’t.” He wheeled the bay so abruptly Liz had to clutch his shoulders. He slowed the horse immediately, grunting something that passed for apology.

The silence stretched between them as the horses fell into single file. Liz thought about asking how Dustin was. On the other hand, it was quite evident that their chat hadn’t gone well. She elected to grip the saddle’s cantle and no part of Gil.

The sky, at least, was beautiful. Not a cloud marred the expanse of Delft blue. A slight breeze kept the day from being too hot. Here and there as they passed bloomed-out agave in an undergrowth of cedar bushes, songbirds trilled. If not for the tension emanating from every line of Gilman Spencer’s stiffly erect body, Liz would have enjoyed this interlude. As things stood, she was relieved when her pickup came into sight. She dismounted quickly and without a hand.

“We’ll ride on and you can follow when you’re ready,” Gil said. “There’s a trail of sorts that leads to the birch. Meet us there and we’ll walk to the river.”

Shading her eyes with a hand, Liz gazed up at him. “Do you want to eat lunch by the tree or at the river?”

“Eat? Oh. I forgot you brought food. As I said, you don’t have to share. We’ll be home by two o’clock.”

“Suit yourself. It’s not gourmet. Roast-beef sandwiches, trail mix and chocolate cupcakes I had left from supper. I brought a jug of cold water to drink.”

Rusty rubbed his stomach. “I’m starved, Dad. And I can say for sure them cupcakes are yummy.”

Gil glanced at his other son, who remained in a sulk. Finally he shrugged. “By the river, I guess.”

Liz repacked her tools and climbed into her truck. He didn’t have to sound as if she’d coerced him into this
picnic, she fumed. All he had to do was say no. She understood the word in three languages. If Melody hadn’t had her heart set on going after those ugly crawdads, Liz would have left the Spencer troops to simmer in their own cauldron. Talk about Dusty’s attitude. And his father’s wasn’t all that saintly, either. Liz didn’t realize she’d slowed to a crawl while she seethed until she stared at the rumps of four unsaddled horses. They’d all gone to the river without her. Not that it mattered. She was a big girl. But if Spencer had really wanted to set a good example for his sons, he’d have helped carry the picnic basket or the heavy jug of water.

“No wonder Mrs. Spencer took a powder.” Liz grumbled as she lifted them down. Immediately she felt guilty. After all, she didn’t know if the Spencers were divorced or if Mrs. Spencer had died. Feeling slightly more charitable toward her boss, Liz balanced a container in each hand and followed the excited voices of the children through a thicket of underbrush.

Gil had his hands full trying to keep an eye on three rambunctious kids, or he might have seen Liz slipping and sliding down the steep incline. He was simultaneously watching Rusty and Melody, who teetered on a log that jutted out over the swiftest part of the river, and Dustin, who roamed upstream along the bank—just short of being out of sight.

Puffing, Liz slammed the basket and the jug down at Gil’s feet. She’d left a trail of plastic glasses, which she stomped back to retrieve. “Thanks for all the help. Maybe you’ll have more energy after you eat.”

Gil felt the sting of her reprimand in a flush that moved up his neck. The fact that he hadn’t been on a picnic in eight years where he was expected to bring more than a six-pack or maybe a bag of chips was no excuse for bad
manners. She had him dead to rights. What was left but to hurry and take the cups from her hands? “Sorry,” he said simply. “The kids were champing at the bit, and I didn’t want them coming here alone.”

Liz saw sincerity in his eyes, and her anger dissipated. “No problem,” she mumbled as she knelt and opened the basket. Taking out a small red-checked tablecloth, she spread it on the ground. She’d no more than removed a packet of blue ice and set out the sandwiches than Rusty and Melody flopped down beside her.

“I’ll go get Dustin,” Gil said. However, he returned moments later alone, lips pressed in a tight line.