Trouble At Lone Spur (13 page)

Absurd thoughts to have now.
Her hands shook as she restarted the engine, and not entirely from the chill. She hoped Gil wouldn’t be so foolish as to try to come home
from the Littlefields in this, yet she was gripped by a premonition that something was terribly wrong. Liz recalled similar feelings the day Corbett met his fate with the bull. It didn’t change one thing in the aftermath to know she’d begged him not to ride.

“What’s that?” Melody asked when they’d fought their way into the barn again.

“The horse is having a hard time breathing, sweetie.” Liz shook the sleet off the blankets and rushed to the stall to check the wild-eyed mare. “Take this number,” she urged Melody, thrusting a paper into her hand. “Look—there’s the phone.” She pointed. “I want you to keep trying to get through, and ask for Mr. Spencer. Tell him I think the foal is caught at an angle. I don’t want him to come, but I need him to tell me how to turn the baby. Come get me, and I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Eyes big in a pale face, Melody nodded. She slipped silently out of the stall, and Liz went to draw two buckets of water. Next she felt the mare’s belly. It was rigid with a contraction. A prayer for guidance passed her lips as she reached carefully into the birth canal. Weakly thrashing hooves were all she felt.

“There’s no dial tone, Mom.” Breathless, Melody hovered in the opening to the stall. “Is Marshmallow Girl gonna die?” Huge tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why is your arm all bloody?”

Liz washed in one of the buckets of water, remaining calm to allay Melody’s fears. “I’m doing my best, honey. Trust me. I need you to be strong right now. I’ll try and explain all this later.”

“Can I watch?”

“I need you to keep dialing that number. Pray that the men working for Ma Bell get those lines fixed soon.”

Melody withdrew. From then on, Liz worked as though in a daze. She injected the muscle relaxant to slow the contractions. Then, with each new one, she reached carefully inside until at last she determined which direction she needed to swing the foal. And she developed a special bond with the plucky mare. Liz knew what it was like to go through a tough delivery, relying only on strangers. Her encouraging murmurs calmed the mare. Liz just wished she knew if what she was doing was right.

At a point when Liz was dangerously close to giving up and on the verge of tears, she heard a loud noise at the front of the barn. Her thoughts flew to Melody, but for the life of her, Liz couldn’t rise to go see. Her clothes were drenched in blood and sweat, and her limbs shook with fatigue. Putting every bit of strength she possessed into one last effort, Liz felt a sudden gush and a plop, and a spindle-legged filly landed in her lap. Through a curtain of tears, she watched the mare struggle to her feet.

The next thing Liz knew, strong arms circled her and she felt her feet leave the floor. Either she was dreaming or cool lips brushed her ear, her cheek, her chin, and whispered lightly over her mouth. “Lizbeth,” a rough voice shuddered. “She’s beautiful. What on earth happened? Melody said—and I can see—you ran into trouble.”

Liz clung helplessly to the wet wool that covered Gil Spencer’s broad chest, drinking in his sight, his touch, his smell. He was warm to the eyes, cold to the touch and smelled faintly foresty through the metallic odor of blood.

“I…she…we…”

“Never mind,” Gil whispered, catching her close again. “You’re fine. We’re okay. Mother and baby are A-okay. Wash up and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Nan
Littlefield sent along a hot thermos. She thought I was crazy to forgo a meal and set out in a storm, but I was worried about you and Melody being here alone.”

Joy filled Liz’s heart and released another flood of tears. Eyes glistening, she skimmed Gil’s craggy features. “We’ve all got a lot to be thankful for,” she sighed softly. “Coffee’s a bonus.” She didn’t tell him, but feeling his strong arms holding her was better than a bonus. It was a return of hope.

“I
NEED TO TAKE FEED
out to the horses and break the ice off their water troughs before I worry about getting anything to eat,” Gil said once he’d finished checking the new mother and her foal. “This little lady’s buddies are out there freezing their tails. She’s the lucky one.” He patted the mare’s sweaty neck.

“Lucky?” Liz grimaced. “
You
have a baby, pal. Then let me hear you say that.”

Gil watched Lizbeth towel her arms vigorously after a quick douse in the bucket. Their pale undersides stirred an ache in his loins. Whirling, he decided to let her remark slide rather than get embroiled. He called for the boys to bring the thermos from the truck.

All three kids ran to the stall, then crowded close to see the new filly. The twins joked about her lack of coordination and her knobby knees. Melody stood up for the baby. “Bet you guys didn’t look any better when you were borned. My mom says people babies are all red and wrinkled at first.”

“Are not,” Dustin declared. “You’re makin’ that up, ain’t she, Dad?”

Gil passed a plastic cup filled with hot coffee across the stall to Liz. “As a matter of fact, she’s not, son.”

Liz read disgust on Dusty’s face. She lowered her cup, attempting to side-track the questions she saw heading Gil’s way. “Wrinkled or not, every parent thinks his or
her child is perfect. Look how proud Marshmallow Girl is. Who’s going to name her baby?”

“I ain’t gonna name no girl,” Dustin said. “Are you, Russ?”

He gazed wistfully at the awkward filly, then shook his head.

Liz found Rusty’s swift capitulation a bit disappointing, but kept her thoughts to herself. “Give me a minute to finish my coffee,” she told Gil, “and I’ll help dole out the feed. I still can’t believe one minute it was fall and the next, winter. Brr.”

“Old-timers call these blue northers or blue whistlers. I’ve only witnessed one other one—when I was a teenager. Today the temperature fell forty degrees in fifteen minutes. A frigid north wind swept down across the plains and hit a warm gulf breeze, and we got caught in the middle.” Overhead lights blinked twice, then went out, ending Gil’s explanation.

“Oh, no. First the phones, now the electricity.” Liz set her cup down, and groped for her coat. “I could hardly see when I drove the truck from the house to the barn. Is it any better out there now?”

Gil clipped a blanket around the new mother. “It’s a nightmare out on the roads. I hope none of the wranglers try to leave Kyle’s before it clears.”

“You did, though,” Liz reminded him.

“Yeah. Well, it’s my ranch. And the Suburban is a big four-wheel drive.”

So it was worry for the ranch and not for her that had brought him back. “I assume you have room for all of us and the feed in your
big four-wheel drive?”
She gathered the children.

“I plan to hitch a flatbed.” Gil registered her sarcasm. He missed the source—unless…“No one expects
you to help, Lizbeth. I have to stop at the house to change clothes and start the alternate generator. You and the kids can stay there and keep warm. The generator puts out enough amps to run low heat and lights in a couple of rooms.”

“I’m already dressed for the weather,” she said as she pulled on her gloves. “I thought you’d welcome an extra pair of hands.”

Gil, whose eyes had begun adjusting to the lack of light, gazed at her a moment, trying to read between the lines. Failing that, he dumped his coffee, herded everyone out and closed up the stall. “Then let’s get at it. I want to see everyone wearing boots, hats and gloves. There’s a box full of extras on the back porch.”

Outside, it looked much later than her watch said. Liz knew at once where the name “blue norther” came from. The icy fog, in the murky half-light, took on varying shades of blue, from pale powder to bright indigo. The wind was so intense it stole her breath and made talk impossible. By the time Gil drove—inched along, really—from the barn to the ranch house, everyone understood the severity of the storm.

It was much warmer in the house even though the electricity had been off some fifteen minutes. Gil started the gas generator first thing. Soon the kitchen lights flickered and grew steady.

Liz and Melody chose hats with earflaps while Gil and the boys went to change into work jeans and long johns, then waited at the door. When the heavily jacketed trio of males waddled back, looking like they’d gained weight, the laughter they shared over it felt good.

“Oh, look. You have a red light flashing in that alcove,” Liz informed Gil in a low voice as he reached for
the door. “Does that mean something’s wrong with your generator?”

“It’s my answering machine. Someone called before the phones went out. Probably Rafe or Luke. I’ll retrieve it later. Let’s go.”

Liz cast another glance toward the winking light as he opened the door to the howling wind. “Wouldn’t they have called you at Mr. Littlefield’s?”

He frowned. “Or on the cellular. Wait, kids.” Gesturing them back inside, he closed the door and strode to the alcove.

Liz heard a beep, a buzz, then a second beep, followed by a woman’s frantic voice. She was too far away to hear what the caller said, but there was no mistaking Gil Spencer’s string of curses.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” Rusty sounded alarmed. “Is that our mom?”

“No. It’s Ben, or rather his sister.” Gil passed a hand over his eyes and jaw, then took a deep breath. “Ben’s been injured in a car wreck.”

Liz covered her mouth with gloved fingers. “Bad?” she gasped.

“Bad enough. Shattered his hip, his thigh and the opposite knee. They’re waiting for the storm to let up so they can fly him to a better equipped orthopedic hospital. She said he figured with the men gone I’d need help, so he left to come home. He slid off the road and over a bank a mile from her house.”

“Did she leave a number? Maybe you can reach her on your cellular.”

“She did. Russell, find me a pencil, will you?”

It was a silent group who raced through stinging sleet to his rig, already slick with ice.

“I’ll drive, you make the call,” Liz said, sliding behind the wheel. “Where to?”

“South pasture.” Gil seemed distracted. “Thanks to Ben’s gut feeling yesterday, we brought the majority of the herd in closer.” Gil helped the children buckle in over their extra clothing before he punched a number into his phone. He drummed his fingers on the dash while it rang and rang. “Nobody there. She also left a number at the local hospital. Man, this is some Thanksgiving.” Rechecking the scrap of paper, he fed in a new series of numbers. His call was answered immediately. Gil greeted Ben’s sister briefly, then asked about his old friend.

Liz heard only Gil’s side of the conversation, but knew from his deepening frown that the news wasn’t good. After a lengthy discourse he clicked off. The twins bombarded him with questions.

“Ben’s been thrown a lot of times, but it sounds like he’s in for a heap of surgery. Peg said they discovered he broke his left wrist, too. All in all, he’ll be looking at several months of casts and therapy.” Gil didn’t want to scare them, but he wanted to be honest.

Dustin’s lower lip quivered. “I shouldn’t a said Ben’s cookin’ was awful. He’s always home after school. What’ll we do without him, Dad?”

“I don’t know, son. Right now, pray he gets well.”

Liz cleared a place to see through the frosty windshield. “You guys are welcome to tag along with me. I always meet Melody’s bus.”

“Will you teach us how to rope?” Rusty asked excitedly.

“Rope?” Gil snorted. “You’d better be asking her to teach you how to cook.”

That set both boys back. The misery on their faces touched Liz’s heart. “If you could get by at breakfast and lunch, I’d be glad to fix your suppers.”

Gil rasped a thumb over his afternoon stubble. “I appreciate the offer, but we can’t impose. There’s cleaning and laundry and a hundred other tasks. I’ll ask around town and see if I can hire someone.”

Dustin leaned forward. “Aw, Dad. You know who’ll wanna come. That dorky Mrs. Porter.”

“Suzette?” Gil chuckled. “I don’t think washing a man’s socks has ever been one of her ambitions.”

Liz wondered if Dustin noticed the smile that lingered on his dad’s lips. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Rusty and Melody exchange glances. Now what did that mean? Before she could delve into what their little minds were hatching, the headlights picked out a shadowy fence row that Liz fervently hoped ringed the south pasture. Driving with almost no visibility was nerve-racking, even though they were just creeping slowly along on Spencer land. She eased up on the gas and turned expectantly to Gil.

“Here already?” He seemed surprised. “Hey, good going.” He reached across her to flip on a spotlight he used for finding lost or strayed horses.

His fingers so close to her breast brought a moment’s distraction to Liz. Her foot slipped off the gas pedal just as Gil told her to turn west. There was a sickening crunch on the right side of the vehicle. She automatically hit the brakes, overcompensating. The heavy flatbed trailer bounced and slid sideways, pulling them into a spin. Liz braced herself and turned the wheels into the slide.

Gil fought a desire to rip the steering wheel out of her hands. He did move close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. Knowing his own pounded in sequence,
he casually stretched out a hand to massage the back of her neck. “I forgot about that stump,” he said evenly. “There’re three more along here. The first lean-to isn’t far now.”

Liz marveled at his mastery over his nerves. She was determined to follow his lead, but her voice broke and gave her away. “Do…do you think I damaged anything?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Other than your pride?”

She couldn’t look away, especially as his fingers and thumb continued to rub the tense cord below her ears. “I was thinking m-more of the hi-hitch.”

“I’ll take a look-see. Sure you’re okay?” he murmured.

“I’m fine. I should be the one to slog around out there. This was my fault.”

“Dad?” a shaky voice queried from the back seat. “Did Mrs. Robbins get us stuck?”

“We’re not stuck. And it’s no one’s fault, son,” Gil said over his shoulder. “By jove, I think it’s warming up.”

Liz felt the icy slap of the wind as he climbed out. “Sure it is,” she muttered. But he was barely gone seconds before he was back, bringing another blast of Arctic air.

“Brr. The iceman cometh.” Liz scooted into her corner as he shook ice crystals from his hat and jacket.

“Crimp the wheel left and pull forward a foot. Straighten her, go three feet to the left and hold her steady.”

“Easy for you to say. How about if we trade places?” It did nothing to bolster her confidence to have all three kids readily agree.

“You’ve made it through the worst, Lizbeth. The rest is a piece of cake. Another two hundred yards or so is the first shelter. Drive slow. I’ll get out there on the flatbed and look for any problems as I shovel out the hay.”

“Not while I’m moving. I’ll stop and we’ll both shovel hay.”

“Look, it’s hard work even for a man.” Smiling, he brushed a thumb lightly across her chin.

Liz neither budged nor returned his smile.

“If you aren’t the most stubborn female I’ve ever…” Gil let his sentence trail off, given pause by the soft sheen of her cheek and the sudden realization that her offer to stand shoulder to shoulder had been what he’d always wanted from Ginger.

Sensing something more in his silence than mere capitulation, Liz abruptly faced forward and edged the automatic transmission into low gear. The first lean-to proved to be precisely where Gil had said. It loomed dark in the crystal mist. Inside, Liz identified a huddle of horses, rumps all turned into the wind. Her heart splintered. “Those poor creatures. They need more than food. Can’t we take them back to the barn where they’ll be warm?”

Melody and Rusty hung over the back of her seat, echoing her sentiments.

“Be reasonable, Lizbeth,” Gil chided. “You’re talking stalls for two hundred and fifty horses or more.” When he saw her crestfallen expression, he framed her face with his gloved fingertips. “Darlin’, quarter horses are bred to withstand the elements. They’re cow horses. Cowboys ride the range in all kinds of weather.”

“But you said blue northers are rare.”

“We get storms of all kinds. That’s why I built big sturdy lean-tos.”

The children slumped back in their seats, apparently accepting Gil’s edict about the horses. Although Liz nodded, set the brake and opened her door without a word, Gil knew her nurturing instincts still balked. For a moment, he longed to take her in his arms and kiss away whatever doubts lingered—a moment that passed as quickly as it’d come. And as Gil slipped out his door to join her at the trailer, he wondered how someone so small could have such a large impact on his normally unshakable logic.

They worked side by side without talking. Liz tossed hay over the fence and Gil spread it among the animals. He used the handle of his pitchfork to break the thin layer of ice that had built up on the water trough. Raising his voice, he told her that according to Ben’s accounts, blue northers rarely lasted more than a couple of days.

Speaking of Ben, how would he replace the old wrangler-cum-houseman? As he checked a leg here and patted a nose there, the question continued to disturb Gil. It was still on his mind when he returned to the vehicle, automatically climbing in on the driver’s side. Liz stared at him openmouthed.

She heaved herself into the car and slid into the passenger seat. Stripping off her gloves and hat, she shook out her damp curls. “Hey, thanks for driving, Robbins—but I’ll take over now. Show you how it should be done,” she said, trying to mimic Gil’s deep voice.

“What?” He looked startled, then sheepish as he gripped the wheel. “A purely reflex action, Lizbeth. I’m not used to anyone doing the driving but me.”

Her backbone relaxed. “Sorry. Hoot always said I was too touchy when it came to man-woman roles. Guess I’ve been in the driver’s seat too long.” She gave an offhand shrug that drew Gil’s gaze to her slender shoulders.

He smiled. “I thought only old bachelors got set in their ways.”