Trouble At Lone Spur (15 page)

“Right now.” Liz jumped down and picked up broken china. Dumping the pieces into the trash, she said, “You’re welcome to the leftovers. Don’t bother to see us out. We know the way.”

Gil hardly had time to marshal his thoughts before they’d gone, leaving him to face the narrowed gazes of his sons. “Who’s winning?” he asked lightly.

“You were kissin’ Melody’s mom, weren’t you?” Dustin demanded.

Feeling exposed by the two open shirt buttons, Gil crossed his arms. “What if I was? I think I’m old enough to kiss a woman without asking your permission.”

“Ick. Suck face.” Rusty circled his neck with his hands and made gagging sounds.

“More’n ick,” added Dustin in his know-it-all fashion. “Buddy Hodges says after kissin’ comes marriage, then makin’ babies. How could you, Dad? How
could
you?” Both boys ran from the room, pounded up the stairs and slammed their bedroom door so hard the old house rocked.

Gil winced. He gazed at the swaying light fixture overhead for a long time—until the tension drained from his neck and shoulders. Buddy Hodges wasn’t so smart. If things had been allowed to run unchecked, he could well have been making babies
before
marriage. Lordy, how could he have let a few kisses get so out of hand?

Then Gil recalled how Lizbeth Robbins felt in his arms and he grew hard again—which left him two choices. Stay away from her or pay a visit to the drugstore. Considering the twins’ reaction, he’d have to weigh those two options carefully. Except that he was very much afraid his feelings for Lizbeth overshadowed any ability to remain impartial.

H
AD
G
IL BEEN ABLE
to keep a housekeeper more than three days running, he might have been granted the time to work things out with regard to Liz and the boys. Unfortunately things kept happening. First, he hired Mrs. Wagner, an acquaintance of Ben’s sister. They’d met at the hospital the day Gil visited Ben. The boys dubbed Mrs. Wagner the dragon lady. Three days of their usual tricks, and she packed her bags, demanding Rafe take her home at once. She didn’t even wait for her pay.

She was followed by a sweet but timid former nun, whom Gil had found through a friend of a friend. Miss Farnsworth claimed to have an excellent rapport with children. She’d just failed to list on her application that she had an almost phobic fear of creepy-crawlies. A fact the Spencer twins discovered in the first hour she was installed in their home. Terrorized and terrified, Miss Farnsworth left the Lone Spur on day two of her employment. Five minutes into cleaning out the boys’ lunch boxes after school.

Liz witnessed the woman’s flight. She’d just left her cottage with Melody, taking her to one of the pastures where she was shoeing a horse for a new wrangler who’d recently come on board, when she heard Gil’s housekeeper scream. No amount of cajoling on Liz’s part could convince the woman to wait and talk with Gil. Miss Farnsworth didn’t care that the tarantula wasn’t real, that it was left over from Halloween. She called a cab and marched to the end of the lane to wait for it.

Angry on their dad’s behalf, Liz lectured the twins for five full minutes. “I can’t leave you alone. You’ve got no choice but to come with me.”

Almost meekly they saddled their horses and followed her to the line shack above the west pasture. Dustin didn’t like it a bit when she made them stand under a tree. Too bad. Liz wasn’t in any mood to take his lip. She’d heard Ben might make it back mid-February. This was only the second week of December. She couldn’t imagine what Gil would do in the meantime. Complacent about Miss Farnsworth’s ability to manage things, he’d gone off to deliver a gelding to Morris Littlefield. There was no way of knowing when he’d make it back.

She and the kids arrived at the ranch just past suppertime, and Gil hadn’t yet returned. Tired, dirty and out of
sorts, Liz fixed supper at the ranch house. She had just sent the boys to change into their pajamas when Nancy Littlefield dropped by to welcome the new housekeeper—and mistook Lizbeth for Gil’s ex-nun.

Liz understood the woman’s shock. Dressed in a tigerstriped leotard and tight raggedy black jeans, no one looked less like someone who’d been cloistered for ten years than Liz. Once the two women stopped talking at the same time and got to the truth, they fell together laughing.

Her bad mood dissipated, Liz happily left the twins in Nancy’s capable hands. She went home to clean up and put Melody to bed.

Gil walked in two hours later. Nancy met him at the door and then bent his ear for another twenty minutes—until, against his better judgment, Gil agreed to take the Lone Spur’s farrier up on her original offer of fixing supper and keeping an eye on the boys after school. Standing in the doorway watching Nan drive off, Gil had a sinking feeling he’d been had. He’d been on the receiving end of Nan’s matchmaking efforts too many times not to recognize that insidious gleam in her eye.

I
N THE MORNING
Gil rose early to fix breakfast. He burned the toast and let the Cream of Wheat stick, but by the time the boys donned their yellow slickers and trudged off to meet the school bus in the rain, they knew he meant business. They should. After all, he’d been awake half the night drawing up an expanded list of chores. This morning he’d laid out his expectations in no uncertain terms. The one thing he didn’t do was bring up Lizbeth’s name, preferring to speak with her first.

Determined to get this settled, Gil phoned her. “Hi, it’s Gil. Do you have time to stop by for a cup of coffee?”

“Uh…sure,” Liz agreed warily. But then, she supposed he wanted to hear firsthand about Miss Farnsworth’s hasty departure. “No problem. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Gil assumed he’d be able to clean up the kitchen before she arrived, but he’d barely started when Lizbeth banged on his back door.

“Whew. Not fit for man nor beast out there.” She shook rain off her Stetson, scraped the mud from her boots and looped her slicker over a peg on the porch. Hovering on the threshold of the Spencers’ kitchen, she wrinkled her nose. “Wow, did you have a chimney fire or something? It’s smoky in here.”

Gil glanced around, expecting to see flames. She’d brought in the freshness of the rain and the ever-present
flowery scent of what he now knew was violets. It filled his nostrils. If she hadn’t walked straight to the stove and sniffed at the corroded cereal pot, he wouldn’t have connected the smoke to his cooking efforts—at least not until her eyes swept over him in pity.

“It helps if you put things like this to soak right away.” She carried the singed pot to the sink and ran it full of water.

“I’ll manage. Ben knows every quirk of this cantankerous stove. I haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

“I see. But Miss Farnsworth’s problem wasn’t the stove.”

“I know.” Gil poured her a cup of coffee and refilled his own. Clearing a space at the round oak table, he offered her a chair. “Nan Littlefield told me the whole story. Thanks for trying to salvage things, Lizbeth.”

She gave a hitch of one shoulder as she sat and accepted the cup. “What are you going to do now?”

He cleared his throat. “If you’re willing, I have a proposition.”

Liz had just taken a sip of hot coffee, which refused to go down. She spewed it all over the table. “Sorry.” Color rose to her cheeks. Her gaze made a restless foray of the room before meeting his.

“Not
that
kind of proposition.” It was Gil’s turn to flush. “Although,” he mumbled, “the way I acted a couple of weeks ago, I can see how you might get that impression.”

“So, now that you’re actually admitting
something
happened between us on Thanksgiving…” Liz stood, grabbing a towel to mop up her spill. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind, Spencer.” She’d be darned if she’d let him wriggle off the hook.

“Here’s the deal, Lizbeth,” Gil said solemnly. “I need your help with the boys until Ben gets on his feet, but I don’t want us to get
involved.
You and me, that is.”

Well, he couldn’t have been more blunt! Liz got quickly to her feet, went to the sink and started rinsing breakfast dishes. Since the ardent kiss they’d shared in this very room, she had admit to having thoughts along the line of
involvement.
Disappointed to hear he felt differently, Liz was determined not to let him suspect she’d entertained any romantic ideas, either. “Well, that’s a relief. I’ve wanted to tell you that I got carried away by the generosity of your gift of the foals and…and the emotional aftermath of the storm. Frankly I felt unfaithful to Corbett.” That, at least, was true.

Gil frowned at the soft slope of her shoulders. The pale skin of her neck peeked out between her pink sweater and the dark bob of her short curls. He had the damnedest urge to press his lips to the curve below her ear. What did she mean—unfaithful? Corbett Robbins was dead. Lizbeth was alive. So was he.

Damn—when she wasn’t around, his plan to keep things strictly business seemed so easy.

She turned to glance over her shoulder to see why he hadn’t jumped to agree with her. The intense look on his face surprised her—a mixture of hunger and passion. It struck her then that he might be more involved than he’d let on. But for mercy’s sake, why deny it? They were both single and unencumbered. Obviously it had to do with his bad marriage. Quickly she bent to fill the dishwasher. When she straightened, the longing was gone from his eyes and he got down to business.

“Last night, Nancy pointed out that, with Ben away, I have an opportunity to spend more time with my kids. I realize I’ve spoiled them. Overcompensation for their
lack of a mother, I guess.” He stared into his cup for a long time. “Thanksgiving, you suggested letting the boys tag along with Melody after school, and maybe fixing us supper. If you haven’t changed your mind, I’d like to see how it works. Only I won’t let you do it for free.”

The amount he named staggered Liz. “I can’t take money. Not after you gave me those foals. Don’t insult me. What are friends for? I’ll just make extra when I fix our evening meal.”

Gil’s teeth worried his lower lip.
Friends.
That had a nice safe ring to it. “Okay, or we can all eat here. But if you have second thoughts, say so. Plus, I insist on buying all the grub. I’m going into town today to make arrangements for our laundry. Would it be a problem to write up a grocery list by noon?”

She started the dishwasher and wiped down the surrounding counters. “I’ll check your fridge and cupboards while I’m here. No sense buying stuff like flour and eggs if you’re already supplied.”

“Ben buys milk and eggs from Florence Ames. She lives in an old farmhouse up the road. Her husband died a while back and her son took a job in Tulsa. Flo should move into town, but she can’t bear to leave the farm Buck bought when they got married. Ben keeps an eye on her woodpile. When it gets low, I stop by for coffee and chop some more. Morris drops off feed, and Doc Shelton attends to the health of her cows. I’d appreciate it if you’d fill in for Ben.”

Liz’s eyes teared. “No problem. That’s a sweet thing you’re doing.”

“It’s neighborly.” Gil brushed aside her praise as he strode to the door and collected his jacket and hat from the pegs. “Oh, in case you aren’t aware—the boys hate liver and corned-beef hash. They gobble down pigs in a
blanket. We all like fried chicken, cold or hot. Make things easy on yourself. Keep it simple. Leave that list on the table, and I’ll be back to pick it up after I see how Luke’s doing—he’s breaking two-year-olds. If you like, I’ll meet the school bus today and lay down rules for the kids.”

These last two speeches were the longest Liz had ever heard him make. She recognized his uneasiness—felt a little nervous herself. It was silly. Nothing had changed. She was still his employee. Her duties had expanded into the domestic arena, that was all. It wasn’t as if he’d proposed they set up housekeeping together. What shocked Liz was that she didn’t find such a thought abhorrent.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, hiding her discomfort. “I’ll be close by if you get tied up. Rafe told me to muck out the big barn.” She made one of Dustin’s gagging sounds.

“Since when does our farrier muck out barns?” Gil began the rhythmic slap of his hat against his thigh.

“It’s okay. I was making a joke. When Rafe hired me, he said it was part of the job. It’s just that I don’t like being cooped up inside. But unless it’s blowing rain, I’ll open both front and back doors.”

Gil scowled. “It might have been okay if Rafe’d hired somebody with a little more muscle. Mucking out stalls is hard work.”

“As is scrubbing floors, doing laundry and having babies.” Her chin came up. “My mother’s mother picked tobacco, chopped cotton and sold home-baked bread to feed and clothe a fatherless brood. She outlived two sons. And I doubt she ever weighed more than ninety pounds in her life. Go on, break your horses and quit worrying. I’ll do my job fine.”

A smile broke free of Gil’s penetrating gaze. “Yes, ma’am.” He angled his Stetson jauntily. “Then I guess there’s no need for me to take the laundry to town. I’ll just drop it by your back porch every morning.”

Liz’s groan was lost in the echo of his boot steps and the subsequent slam of the back door. Well, she’d certainly asked for that. She’d walked right into it with her eyes open. Plunking herself down at the table in front of her now cold cup of coffee, she laughed until the tears ran. Wait until she relayed this episode to Hoot. He was forever saying she had foot-in-mouth disease. Still, she knew Gil wouldn’t really leave her his dirty laundry. He was too proud.

Even though it rained steadily all morning, Liz never made it to her chores in the barn. Thick mud out on the range played havoc with the lightweight shoes on some of the wranglers’ horses. She set her forge up under the umbrella of an old oak tree and was kept busy molding heavier shoes until lunchtime. From her vantage point on the hill, she saw Gil return to his house for the grocery list. If her heart gave a little flutter kick at the sight of his wide square shoulders, the swing of his narrow hips, she blamed it on a fat raindrop that plopped off her hat, slithered beneath her collar and trickled coolly between her breasts. It was the only thing cool about her—which was why, when she heard his vehicle splash to a stop outside her cottage a few hours later, Liz didn’t look up. She didn’t think her heart could stand the strain of watching him make all those trips into her place with enough groceries to feed a family of five. Because they
weren’t
a family.

The bad thing about shoeing horses was that her mind had too much freedom to wander. Once Liz started thinking about Gil, her brain seemed stuck in a rut. It
dwelled on the odd fact that the men never gossiped about their boss’s romantic alliances. In the four months she’d been at the ranch, no one had talked about who he dated. There was open discussion about the other men’s love lives. For instance, Liz knew that Rafe exclusively dated Joyce, a visiting nurse. Luke had fallen hard for Polly, the owner of the “fluff-duff” shop, and Macy Rydell played the field far and wide; his exploits made history for a week. Most of the others were vocal about what they liked or didn’t like in a woman. Only Gil shied away from romance. Thanks to Ginger Lawrence, Liz presumed.

Liz rarely ran across a person she didn’t like. That woman was an exception. Something puzzled Liz—if Ginger had always been grasping, why on earth would she throw away the Lone Spur for the likes of Avery Amistad? Maybe someday Liz would work up the nerve to ask Gil about his marriage. But not anytime soon.

Goodness! There was the school bus turning into the lane. She’d wasted half a day mooning over Gil Spencer. She made her way as quickly as she could toward the drop-off point. And wouldn’t you know it, just then he rode up on a feisty high-stepping filly. It was the first time she’d seen him in a pair of chaps. When he dismounted and looped his soft leather gloves around his belt, she had difficulty expelling the air trapped in her lungs. By the time she’d covered the short distance that separated them, blood swished in her ears, leaving her light-headed.

“Hi.” His greeting did little to slow her heart rate. Liz said nothing as he wrapped the reins twice around the fence and gave a good yank. “I thought for a minute I’d be late. Got more than I bargained for uncorking this lady.” He smoothed a palm over the filly’s withers. The
rain had stained her coat a dark rich shade of butterscotch.

“Threw you, did she?” Liz smiled. “Sorry I missed that show.”

“Next time I’ll sell tickets. Luke knew, damn his ornery hide. I should’ve guessed when so many hands came out of the woodwork to gawk.”

“That’s usually a clue something’s wrong. I get the same thing when somebody brings me a rough horse to shoe. An audience materializes out of the dust.” Her gaze meandered over his backside. “You must have stayed with her. I don’t see any mud.”

“We’re using the covered arena. It was costly, but worth every dime. I’ve never met a cowboy who liked getting wet.”

“Likewise farriers.”

As the faded yellow bus rumbled to a stop and she sauntered toward the opening door, Gil eyed her mudspattered jeans. Like him, she’d cast aside her rain gear in favor of jeans and a flannel shirt. When she stepped aside to let the boisterous children alight, he could see the way her shirt molded the generous swell of her breasts. In an unconscious movement, Gil cupped his palms, imagining the damp fit. The minute he realized what he’d done, he gave a start and tried to bury his hands in his front pockets. Brought up short by his chaps, he felt sillier than ever.

“Hey, there’s Dad! Cool,” yelled the first twin off the bus. “Look, Dusty, we don’t have no crappy ol’ housekeeper meetin’ us, like you said.”

Dustin swung down. He plowed through a puddle his brother had managed to avoid. But his steps slowed, leaving him standing in ankle-deep water as Melody Robbins and her mom joined his father.

“Boys,” Gil said lightly. “The day we learned about Ben, Lizbeth offered to let you guys hang out with her after school. She also said she’d fix us supper every night. I decided today that’s what we’ll do for a while.”

“Cool,” Rusty said again, and promptly danced a jig with Melody.

Slogging out of the puddle, Dustin marched right up to his dad. “Ain’t it kinda chummy, callin’ her Lizbeth? You didn’t use those other housekeepers’ first names.”

Liz knew that if either one of the boys grumbled, it’d be Dustin. But she hadn’t anticipated such outright belligerence.

Neither had Gil, although he could trace its roots to a certain kiss—which wasn’t to say he condoned his son’s behavior. “We call Ben by his first name, and Rafe and Shorty. Besides, Lizbeth isn’t our housekeeper. She’s a friend doing us a favor. I want you to keep that in mind, Dustin. No more shenanigans, mister.” In spite of the fact that it had begun to drizzle again, Gil knelt and met his son eye to eye.

Dustin kicked at the book bag he’d dragged through the mud. “What’er shenan…shenanig…”

“Tricks. Pranks. Jokes,” Gil said sternly. “And every night at suppertime, Lizbeth is going to give me an accounting of how you’ve behaved. So don’t think I won’t know.”