Trouble at Lone Spur. Roz Fox Denny
that hung on the barn wall. “Do you like horses? Blast,” he muttered, glaring at the bleating phone. “Vet’s line is still busy.” Scowling, Gil downed the cookie in two bites.
“My mom’ll help. She knows everything about a horse’s feet and legs. Hoot said she knows more’n a vet.”
Gil choked on a crumb. “Well, if Hoot’s your mom’s boyfriend, then he’s probably biased.” After he dusted off his mouth, he dialed again.
Melody rolled her eyes. “Hoot’s not Mom’s boyfriend. He’s the best rodeo clown alive. Want another cookie? My mom made ‘em. ‘Course, her chocolate-chip ones are better. And her brownies. They’re the very best.”
Gil listened to the insistent busy signal, trying to recall how long it’d been since he last ate a homemade cookie of any kind. Maybe at his friend and fellow rancher Morris Littlefield’s home. His wife, Nancy, took pity on Gil and the boys every few months and invited them to dinner. Mostly she served apple pie for dessert because it was the twins’ favorite. Come to think of it, the last time he’d had cookies that didn’t come from a package was at the June breeders’ meeting. Madge Brennan had made coffee and passed around a plate of molasses cookies. He really wished he could say they were better than these, but he couldn’t.
The girl passed the plate again, and Gil sampled another cookie. “These are pretty good,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t you hurry on inside before the twins polish off the milk?” Her solemn stare unnerved him.
“You should go get my mom.”
Before Gil could say he thought her mother was probably busy packing, the phone rang. He grabbed it up and was drawn into an unsatisfying conversation with his ranch foreman. The next thing Gil knew, the kid had disappeared. Just as well, considering he’d used some pretty colorful language. And not solely because the brakes went out on the ranch truck, leaving Rafe stranded in Abilene, either. Gil did his fair share of chewing Rafe’s tail over hiring that woman.
God, what next? Gil wondered as he signed off with a sigh. Mrs. Robbins wouldn’t get her money today. And maybe not tomorrow unless he made an unscheduled trip into town. Rafe said the service center had to send to Dallas for parts.
Hell, she should know the Lone Spur paid its bills. His dad had let things go, but not Gil. He’d go hunt her up and demand an address where he could mail her a check. Dammit, what was wrong with Doc Shelton’s phone, anyway? Gil hung up, then headed for the door. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d drop in his tracks.
He’d just reached the double doors when one slid open and Gil found himself face-to-face with the woman he needed to see. A light floral scent replaced the more pungent barn smells. Gil froze midstride. Gone were the accoutrements of a farrier. She looked dainty as a new filly in worn but clean jeans and a sleeveless flowered blouse.
“Oh!” Liz leapt back. “Sorry.” She placed a spontaneous hand on Gil’s arm. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here, except maybe my daughter.” She peered around him, or at least tried. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. “Melody was supposed to saddle her pony. I thought we’d take a last ride to sort of shake out his kinks before stuffing him in a trailer. Rafe let me ride Starfire,” she said, referring to a balky gelding. “Do you mind if I take him out one last time?”
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.”
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