Trouble At Lone Spur (19 page)

T
HE MINUTE
she turned down the deeply rutted lane that led to Buddy’s, Liz knew she’d misjudged the extent of Dustin’s unhappiness. Compared to the Lone Spur ranch house, the Hodges’ place was a shack. The roof had patches on top of patches, and the windows were lined with foil to keep out the cold. Chickens scattered when she parked. Pigs wallowed in the mud at the feet of a sadeyed cow. “Rusty, what does Mr. Hodges do?”

“Raises melons. But Buddy says the kids do all the work.”

“Kids? Brothers and sisters, you mean?” Liz asked idly as she opened the pickup door and wondered if she could jump the huge mud hole at her feet.

“Only brothers. Buddy’s got two bigger brothers and three little ones.”

“Six kids and two adults live in this house? Are you sure, Rusty? It doesn’t look as big as my cottage.”

“Do I hafta go with you?” Melody whined. “Buddy’s brother Coulter is mean.”

Rusty shifted in his seat. “All the Hodges are meaner’n snakes. Maybe I’ll stay here with Mel.”

Feeling abandoned, Liz gave thought to hightailing it back to the Lone Spur—and Gil. But she hesitated too long. The front door of the house flew open, and a tall thin woman with chapped hands and graying hair stepped
out onto the sloped porch. “State yer business, missy. I ain’t gonna stand here freezin’ my expectations.”

Liz recognized the twang of a native West Texan. She was relieved to see that the woman looked more harried than mean. “I’m Lizbeth Robbins—from the Lone Spur.”

“Figures.” No other word, no greeting. But she was obviously waiting for Liz to explain why she was there.

Liz knew West Texans weren’t big talkers, but she didn’t intend to discuss the reason for her visit with anyone other than Dustin. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured to the kids. “Don’t move a muscle.” She shut the cab door gently and picked her way through chickens and mud, pasting a smile on her lips as she reached the house.

“Dustin’s mentioned ya. You’d be the floozy that’s a-livin’ with Gilman, I guess. What a man does is his business, but I don’t hold with goin’ agin the good book.”

Liz swallowed her smile. “Mrs. Hodges.” She placed both hands on her hips. “I’m the Lone Spur’s farrier. I
live
in a cottage well apart from the Spencers’ house. I’m caring for the twins after school until Mr. Jones recovers from his car accident. Rusty said his brother left school today with Buddy. I need a word with Dusty. Do you know where I might find him?”

“Inside. They’re fixin’ to go huntin’ gobblers.”

Liz shuddered. Kids that age had no business messing with guns. “A private word, Mrs. Hodges. Please send Dustin out.”

The older woman must have seen her determination. She gave a curt nod before withdrawing. Liz could just imagine what tales Dustin must have spun about her to give Buddy’s mother such a terrible impression. But mortified though she was, Liz knew she wouldn’t get
anywhere with Dustin by taking an accusatory stance. If he even agreed to see her. What if he wouldn’t? Or he might already be gone.

He did eventually appear, although Liz held no illusions that it was for any reason other than the fact that he was nine and she an adult. With that small advantage, she decided to strike first. “Dustin, if you go hunting, it will greatly disappoint your dad. He told you exactly how he felt about this expedition. Right now, you still have a choice. Get your book bag and come with me. Your dad will never be the wiser. Stay, and you take the consequences.”

Dustin hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “You mean you won’t tell?”

If he’d actually gone hunting, Liz would have had to think twice about such a promise. As it stood, she couldn’t see any harm in keeping his aborted rebellion between them. “Why hurt your dad? Isn’t this really about us?”

His head shot up and Liz backed away from the dislike flowing from the hazel eyes that were otherwise so like Gil’s.

“Why don’t you just go? Nothin’s been right since you moved in. You made a sissy outta Rusty, and now you got Dad cookin’ and fetchin’. Ben’s comin’ back, you know. Then things’ll be the way they usta be.”

Liz gasped. “Dustin, it isn’t unmanly to be thoughtful. I was sick last night. And if we stand out here in the cold much longer, I’m liable to be sick again. I believe I’ll wait in the truck with Rusty and Melody while you say goodbye and get your things. It’s your decision, but I think you should know that Rusty is pretty upset, too.”

“You better tell Rusty not to fink on me to Dad. That wuss came cryin’ to you, didn’t he?”

Liz watched him stomp back inside. She hadn’t thought about Rusty saying something to Gil either way, but of course he might. Liz knew from experience that kids were prone to do the very things they were told not to. Perhaps it would die a natural death if Dustin simply came home with them.

Thank goodness he did. Liz thought she concealed her relief admirably, although on the drive home the brothers remained as divided as Cain and Abel.

Back at the cottage, their estrangement was even more pronounced. Rusty and Melody threw themselves into making and decorating Christmas cookies. Dustin sat moodily in the living room, refusing even to sample the first batch. Although his attitude didn’t dampen the other kids’ enthusiasm, it took all the fun out of the afternoon for Liz. Not to mention the pall it cast over her proposed trip with Gil. But as she baked chicken and corn bread for their supper, Liz realized Gil was right. They shouldn’t play into Dustin’s hands.

Gil came to the cottage after work. He tapped lightly on the back door and walked in, a broad smile on his face. “Luke and I went to the timberline this afternoon. I cut a couple of Christmas trees. I don’t suppose anybody here would be interested.” He snatched a warm cookie from the counter as Rusty and Melody ran outside.

Gil’s eyes sought Lizbeth’s. She had the distinct feeling he’d like to be stealing a kiss to go with that cookie.

“Dustin.” Liz stepped to the arch. It was the subtlest way she knew to let Gil know that all the children hadn’t dashed out. “Your dad cut Christmas trees, Dusty. Don’t you want to go have a look with the others?”

Dustin charged past her. It was the most animation he’d shown all afternoon. “Our tree. Great, Dad! Can we decorate it tonight?”

“Whoa, son.” Gil caught him around the waist. “It’s still wet from snow. I thought I’d put it in the stand and let it set a day. Tomorrow night maybe Lizbeth can fix supper at our house, and she and Melody can help with decorations. If the storm breaks, it’ll be a good night for popcorn and hot chocolate. After we put the angel on of course.” He turned to Liz, his eyes glowing. “It’s a tradition of my mom’s that the boys and I sort of carried on.”

Liz realized Gil couldn’t see Dustin’s face. His pleasure died the minute his dad had invited her to share their evening. “Gil,” she murmured, “that’s
your
special tradition. Mel and I have our own. You said you cut two trees, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Gil seemed confused. Crestfallen. “But I thought Melody said you’d never had a tree because there wasn’t room in your trailer.”

“All the more reason to start some traditions.” Liz failed miserably to telegraph the real reason behind her refusal. Yet how could she spell it out in front of Dustin? For his sake, she overrode her own disappointment.

Gil wasn’t successful at hiding his. All afternoon he’d pictured the fun they’d have together decorating those trees. Obviously Lizbeth had changed her mind about a lot of things since noon. Damn, did all women have to jerk a man around? “It’s your call,” he said stiffly. He might have said more, but Melody and Rusty ran back inside just then, exclaiming that the pines were the most beautiful trees they’d ever seen.

“You’ve seen one tree, you’ve seen ‘em all,” Gil snapped.

Liz wished he’d noticed the smile that replaced Dustin’s scowl, or the fact that his moody son had suddenly whooped and dragged his twin outside for a second look. Had Melody not stayed in that time, Liz would have set Gil straight.

Only too aware of the tension that had developed between them, she turned to dish out the Spencers’ portion of the evening meal. Dustin had lost the first round today; he deserved to win this one. Although if the way Gil grabbed the basket of food and left was any indication, Dusty might win the whole shootin’ match. Surely Gil wasn’t so blind he couldn’t see…

A little miffed herself, Liz stayed up half the night moving furniture around in her tiny living room, deciding where to put her tree. With hard work, her anger dissipated. She brewed a cup of soothing tea and reconsidered talking things out with Gil.

Next morning, after the children’s bus had come by, Liz hurried to the barn in hopes of catching Gil before he rode out. Instead, she met Rafe saddling up.

“The boss took five men and rode out at dawn. Macy found where a big cat downed one of our mares yesterday. Yancy and I were planning to comb the canyons for strays today, so I got the twins ready for school. Why’re you lookin’ for Gil? I thought you had horses to shoe. But it’s okay to let them go if you’re still sick.”

“Um…no. I’m better. The question I have for Gil can wait till I take them supper tonight. And Rafe, if I finish early, I may run into town. Mel and I don’t have any decorations for the Christmas tree Gil cut. Can I get anything for you while I’m there?”

He dug in his pocket and handed her a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. “Would you buy something slinky for me to give Joyce for Christmas? Size eight.”

“Slinky, huh? Come on, Rafe. Can’t you be more specific?” Liz teased.

“Uh, you know. Nightwear.”

“Oooh…a sexy nightgown?”

His face turned three shades of red.

“Rafe, wouldn’t it mean more if
you
bought her present?”

“M-m-me? I couldn’t go in one of
those
stores. By morning it’d be all over town. Can’t you imagine what guys like Luke and Macy would say?”

“They’d probably say you lucky devil, you.” Liz shook her head. “Oh, all right.” She folded the bill and tucked it in her pocket. “Better yet, why don’t I pick up something on my shopping trip to Fort Worth? They’ll have more of
those
stores.”

“Are you still going? I thought the way the boss talked this morning that maybe you’d canceled out.”

She gave Rafe a funny look. Just how much had Gil told his foreman about that proposed jaunt? “I didn’t cancel, Rafe. Question is—did I
get
canceled?”

“Hey, don’t ask me. Maybe I misunderstood. You oughta talk to Gil.”

Liz laughed. “Exactly. Isn’t that where this conversation began?”

“Right,” he drawled. “If I see the man, I’ll send him around. Oh, hey—I guess you’ve got the night off, too. Gil asked me to meet the twins’ bus after school. They’ll eat with me in the cookshack.”

Now Liz knew something was definitely up with Gil. All day, she kept an eye out, but to no avail. As it turned out, Rafe needed her to feed the boys, after all. He left her with three kids who were in snits because they’d all counted on decorating their respective trees after supper. Liz couldn’t even interest them in tacos. Not only
that, Dustin blamed her for Gil’s lateness. She’d barely gotten them all to sleep at midnight when Gil dragged in.

“What are you doing here?” he asked curtly on finding Liz pacing his kitchen. “I expected Rafe.” He slapped his hat on the rack and shrugged out of a muddy sheepskin-lined jacket.

“He expected
you
home by seven,” she shot back, then wished she could retract her words, he looked so weary. “Gil, I know it’s late, but we need to talk. There’s hot coffee, and tacos to put in the microwave if you’re hungry.” Without giving him an option, she went to the fridge.

“I have to wash up,” he said, carefully skirting her.

Well,
she thought,
this is going to be a dandy conversation.
She had his food on the table and coffee poured by the time he returned.

“What’s this about, Lizbeth? You sure blow hot and cold.”

“Funny, all day I’ve thought the same thing about you.” As he sat down, she saw uncertainty shadow his eyes. “Eat,” she said softly, trying to figure out a way to sneak back the coffee she’d doctored up a bit because she’d been feeling vexed at his attitude. But it was too late. He moved the cup to the right of his plate, out of her reach.

Gil polished off half a taco, leaned back and washed the final bite down with a hefty swig from his cup.

Liz winced the minute he bolted out of the chair, gasping to breathe against the triple shot of Jack Daniel’s. He gazed at her through watery eyes. “So…if you’re not mad, I guess this means we’re even,” he choked.

She pursed her lips, but not in time to hide those mischievous dimples.

Gil foundered on the urge to kiss her again. Damn, but he’d never met a woman who could scramble his brains like this one. He might be dead on his feet and furious with her, but his body had other ideas. So, apparently, did his heart, whether he wanted it that way or not.

“It’s late,” she muttered, as if she knew precisely where his thoughts lay. Standing, she picked up his plate and bent down to put it in the dishwasher.

Gil’s temperature shot up twenty degrees. He was contemplating what he might do about it when she set the dials, turned and said, “I shouldn’t have provoked you tonight. I’m sorry you didn’t get the cougar, Gil.”

“Me, too.” Suddenly all his long hours in the saddle came crashing back. And the easy way Lizbeth had read his discouragement surprised Gil. “That damned cat has more than nine lives.”

“Bad, huh?”

Gil leaned his elbows on the table, dropped his head into his hands and massaged an ache in his forehead with both thumbs. “He’s killed three mares in as many days. We’re bringing the main herd in off the winter grass. It means twice the work hauling hay. Worse, I’ll probably have to have some of the hands cancel their holiday plans.”

“Oh, so that’s what Rafe meant about our trip being canceled.” The tight lines in her face eased. “You’re not going to Fort Worth, after all. I’m afraid…that is, I thought…well, never mind.” She beamed at Gil.

He straightened, studied her carefully, then shrugged. “I still have to go. It involves a big sale. Are you saying I read things wrong? Didn’t you give me the brush-off?”