Trouble At Lone Spur (21 page)

He gazed at her so long, lids lowered, eyes smoldering, that her heart rate quickened. Maybe she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought. “Gil.” Her voice held the barest hint of a tremor as she flattened her fingers along his chest.

Gil sailed his Stetson halfway across the room, missing the chair. Catching both her wrists, he slowly pulled her upright. “It’s powerful between us, Lizbeth. And getting stronger.”

Gentling his grip, he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them repeatedly. “If I join you on that bed right now, I’ll last about two seconds. You deserve a whole lot better.” Sliding his hands along her arms, he gathered her up and held her close. “Make your call to Melody. I’ll go to my room and call room service. While we’re waiting for our food, you can shower and, uh, get into something more, ah, comfortable—and I’ll…I’ll call the boys.”

Liz framed his face. “I forgot how long it’s been for both of us. Maybe we should go shopping first. I, uh, I’m not on…anything, Gil.”

Smiling, he dusted his knuckles over her cheek. “I guess now I have to confess. I’ve been planning this for a few weeks. Not to worry, I came prepared.”

“Oh.” Liz felt her cheeks heat. She wasn’t as modern or as bold as she’d wanted to appear.

Gil saw. Enchanted, he tipped up her chin and helped himself to a long lingering kiss. A sample of what would come later. Loving the glow his kisses left in her eyes and on her cheeks, he backed through the door into his room. He didn’t
want
to say it but felt he had to. “No rush, Lizbeth. If you’d rather, we’ll go shopping after supper.”

Liz fully expected the delay would ruin the mood—so she slipped into sweats after showering and tucked her shopping list into her jacket pocket, betting they’d go to the mall.

But when Gil came out from his bathroom, he was barefoot, wearing only the bottoms to silk pajamas. They hadn’t been out of his drawer since he’d spent a weekend in Mexico at the home of a rancher friend—
after
his divorce was final. He’d missed the boys and the ranch so much he didn’t even look at the women his friend had invited.

Gil certainly
had
planned his part, Liz thought, feeling very overdressed. She might have commented, but just then someone knocked at his door. She made herself scarce while he accepted the cart from room service. The aroma soon brought her out of hiding. “Oh, look—what a gorgeous centerpiece.”

“Comfortable?” he asked, handing her a slender silver vase holding one delicate white rose surrounded by Christmas greenery.

She nodded. But heat coiled inside her, and she nearly dropped the vase as she carefully set it back on the cart. “Were, uh, how were the boys?”

“Fine.” He smiled, seating her in a chair by the window that overlooked the lights of the city. “The rose is for you, Lizbeth.”

“I…You shouldn’t have, Gil. I told you I don’t need flowers.”

“We’re not kids, Lizbeth, struggling to make ends meet. I can afford roses.”

Reaching out, she touched the translucent petals. Gil was right about their not being kids. A fact made evident to Liz now as she sat here staring at the dusting of dark hair sprinkled generously across Gil’s upper chest.

Tongue-tied, she inhaled the seductive scent of spruce wafting from Gil’s still-damp body, and the appetizing aroma of steak and lobster from the platter he held out for her inspection. And Liz knew she was going to enjoy every morsel of this meal—and every moment of his seduction.

“Wine?” He indicated a bottle of white and one of red, and reeled off their vintages.

Liz chose white, knowing nothing about wine. Before the meal ended, she knew more. She knew that it relaxed her and took away her inhibitions. Yet alcohol had nothing to do with her willingness to skip the dessert of crème brulée. That had only to do with Gil. “Excuse me,” she murmured, as she pushed the small silver dish aside. “I can’t possibly eat another bite.” Rising, she picked up the flower he’d given her.

“At least stay and have some coffee.” He stood, slipped both hands around her hips and turned her to face him.

She rose on tiptoe and grazed his cheek with her lips. “Bring the other bottle of wine to my room, why don’t you?”

Gil watched her hurry out. She was so small and delicate. Had he frightened her with his need? His stomach knotted. He couldn’t blame her for having reservations, but damn, he didn’t want to ply her with more wine. He wanted her to know exactly who was making love to her. So Gil arrived at the connecting door empty-handed. And it was a darned good thing. He would have dropped the bottle, and red wine made such a mess.

Lizbeth walked out of the bathroom, the only light in the room behind her. All she had on were cotton string bikini panties in an icy mint color and a matching short tank top that stretched over the full mounds of her breasts and clung to her narrow ribs.

She looked up, saw Gil and would have apologized for not owning any sexy lingerie. But the crushing all-consuming kiss he gave her as he tumbled her across the bed showed Liz plainly that Gilman Spencer wasn’t a man to be fooled by the trappings of satin and lace. He was, however, way off base concerning his staying power. He kissed and suckled her into a frenzy. Three times she begged him to join with her and put out the fire that raged unchecked. As many times, he explored every inch of her body and still made her wait for relief.

Finally, when it seemed as if they’d both explode, he entered her in one long stroke and dived with her over the edge to fulfillment. To a sense of sated contentment and pure happiness.

Panting and peppered with sweat, they reentered the real world and crawled beneath the covers, each asking nothing more than to enjoy being held in the other’s arms. Gil lazily stroked her hair. She skimmed her fingers and lips along the salty rim of his collarbone. They didn’t need words, only an occasional approving murmur to convey how they felt about what had happened between them. Neither mentioned home or children or shopping. For this moment, all trouble was left back in Crockett County.

In the night when Liz awakened in the throes of one of her terrible claustrophobic nightmares, Gil was there to drive her fears away. They made love again, so tenderly this time it brought tears to her eyes.

The next day Gil served her breakfast in bed. Afterward they wandered along streets resplendent with the trappings of Christmas. They shopped holding hands and made short work of both Christmas lists. Many times throughout the afternoon, the hardships of single parenting dissolved in the face of shared laughter. Like children, they tried out every noisy toy they could lay hands on.

In a card shop, Gil bought special cards for several close friends. Liz selected one for Hoot. She picked a sentimental one for her folks, then before reaching the cashier, she stepped out of the line and put it back. Maybe she’d call them, instead.

That night they made love and promises—till dawn brought a horrendous thunderstorm and an abrupt end to their idyll.

They dressed in separate rooms and spoke little on the drive home. Gil concentrated on watching the highway through sheets of rain. Liz did her best to keep the windshield cleared of steam. “Has this all been a dream?” she
asked once when they stopped for coffee and to calm their nerves.

Gil threaded his fingers through hers as they dashed back to the van. “It’s no dream, Lizbeth. It’s the start of something real. I’m not good with words, sweetheart, but I think it’s pretty evident how I feel about you.”

“But the children,” she murmured, watching him fumble for his keys. “Dustin answered the phone this morning. He was more than cool. He didn’t say two words to me before Nancy called Melody to the phone. I think he knows what’s gone on, Gil.”

“We’ll take it slow for a while. Date.” He bent and kissed a fat raindrop from her nose. “By spring foaling, they’ll see we’re serious.” A drumroll of thunder forced him to hustle her into her seat and race through puddles around to his side. After that, they were both so preoccupied with the dangers of the drive, their new relationship was temporarily put on hold.

C
HRISTMAS BLEW
into Texas in the company of a hailstorm.

Liz prepared a beautiful standing rib roast that dried out before Gil got back from checking the horses for cuts and bruises.

Rafe had developed minor complications from his surgery. Christmas Day, Gil worked long hours, shorthanded.
Welcome to ranching,
Liz thought wryly as she sat alone admiring the winking tree lights while Gil dozed fitfully in the chair. The boys had put aside their remote-controlled big-wheel trucks and dragged their new hand-tooled saddles upstairs to use as pillows. Melody slept on the love seat, buried in Barbie dolls, books and games. She’d insisted on wearing her new nightgown and robe.

Liz’s hand kept straying to one of Gil’s gifts to her—an elegant boot-length, dark red velvet dress with a sweetheart neckline etched in antique silver studs. It came with matching boots of the softest leather. She’d never owned anything so rich. For the Littlefields’ New Year’s Eve party, he’d told her offhandedly when she couldn’t find words to thank him. Liz wondered now if that meant he’d be embarrassed to be seen with her in something she’d bought herself. She shook off the thought, not wanting to create problems where none existed. Stretching, she rose, shut off the lights and woke him gently. “Go to bed,
Gil. Time for me to get Melody home. There’s finally a break in the storm. The stars are out.”

He jumped up, rubbing the heels of his palms across his eyes. “What time is it? Don’t tell me the boys have crashed? God, Liz, why didn’t you poke me sooner?”

“It’s okay. You needed the rest.”

He pulled her to him and nibbled softly on her bottom lip. “Fort Worth seems a lifetime away, doesn’t it? I hate to impose again, but could you watch the twins tomorrow? I know they were supposed to ride with me, but Rusty’s not feeling all that well.”

Her reluctant “Sure” was swallowed by a more passionate kiss, and Liz forgot what her objections might be.

The next day she remembered. Because she was forced to deal with Dustin’s post-Christmas blues, as well as his surliness. By midday, she’d about had it with running inside every ten minutes to break up arguments he’d provoked between Rusty and Mel.

What had Gil thought? That she’d ride herd on the kids all day, never mind her job? Did they turn some corner in Fort Worth that she wasn’t aware of? But no, they’d agreed to date. That was all. She was neither official housekeeper nor mother to the boys, a fact of which Dustin Spencer was well aware. She remained the Lone Spur’s farrier—a job she took pride in doing. The frozen ground caused many of the wranglers’ horses to throw shoes. Knowing the men were having a rough enough time battling the weather, Liz erected her forge in the Spencers’ front yard to save the men from having to ride unfamiliar mounts while she played nanny to the boss’s kids.

Considering all their new toys, Liz assumed the trio would play quietly inside while she worked. Wrong. They interrupted her so many times with their bickering she
finally sent Dustin out to play by himself in the barn. The glare he aimed at her was fierce. Liz was almost glad to see Buddy Hodges ride in a half hour later.

She shoed two horses. The cold wind left her fingers numb. Liz decided to break for coffee before starting on Yancy’s dun-colored mare. She’d just reached the porch when a shout, followed by a bloodcurdling scream, rose from the barn. Liz wanted to run, but her legs refused to function. When they did, horrible images dragged at her steps, making her stumble.

Moments later, bursting into the barn, it was as if her worst fears were realized. Dustin lay on the earthen floor beneath the hayloft—and there was blood everywhere. Dear Lord, how bad was he? Should she move him? Or call an ambulance? She’d wanted to try the new cell phone—another of Gil’s extravagant Christmas gifts—but not for this reason.
God in heaven, how badly was he hurt?

Buddy Hodges hovered in a corner. What was wrong with that boy? Why didn’t he go for help? Liz dropped to her knees on the cold floor. Her legs shook so hard she couldn’t have stood much longer. Her tongue had difficulty forming words. “D-did he fall from the l-loft or the ladder?” She ripped off her jacket and covered Dustin, paying no heed to the crimson stain that spread across the light-colored leather.

Liz thought she heard Buddy choking. Obviously he was crying and trying to be manly. Liz had just placed a hand on Dustin’s pulse when he jackknifed into a sitting position and burst into peals of laughter. “Told ya so, Buddy! I said I could make good fake blood out of catsup.”

Stunned, Liz went through a dozen emotions ranging from relief to fury, and still she couldn’t control her internal
shaking. They were kids, she told herself. Boys who didn’t know the seriousness of their actions. And it wasn’t her place to chastise either of them. It was Gil’s. She fully intended to tell him the whole story.

But once her heart had resumed its normal pace, she began to wonder if there’d been something of a challenge in Dustin’s eyes—daring her to make trouble for him with his father. After much soul-searching, Liz decided to let the incident pass. Maybe it was typical boy behavior. What did she know about raising boys? If it was some test he’d dreamed up for her, heaven knew she wanted to pass it.

The rest of the day slid by without incident. And the next and the next. Before Liz knew it, a week was gone. She and Gil hardly managed more than a word in passing between Christmas and the Littlefields’ New Year’s Eve party—a big family affair.

Gil showed up late to collect Liz and Melody. He looked wonderful in his suit and top coat. So handsome. Liz stumbled over a fitting compliment.

“You look lovely, too,” he said, thrusting a gardenia into her hands.

To Liz, who ached at the sight of him, the words sounded like nothing more than a polite tribute. Too polite coming from a man with whom she’d made hot steamy love a couple of weeks earlier, she thought, murmuring a self-conscious thank-you.

But maybe she was reading things wrong—again.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Gil sent the kids off to play, then introduced Liz to all his horsebreeder cronies and their wives. Everyone seemed to genuinely like her. She and Gil were invited, as a couple, to attend both Valentine and St. Patrick’s Day events. Still, Liz didn’t relax until she overheard one of the wives
tell Nan that it was the first time she’d seen Gil look so happy at one of their gatherings.

He did, Liz realized. He looked happy. In love. Willing to accept what she could validate with her eyes, she curled a hand possessively around his arm and passed him a glass of champagne.

Smiling, Gil pulled her closer.

Experiencing the warm familiar brush of his lean body against her softer curves, Liz imagined for a moment how they’d look together when they were Nan and Morris’s age. It was a fleeting image. Gone within moments, because someone began counting out the old year. Soon others joined in, shouting and laughing amid the popping of corks.

Gil tightened his arm around Liz’s waist and guided her into a secluded corner. His midnight kiss was close to being X-rated—and extended well into the new year. He was far less flustered than she over the good-natured ribbing they got from his pals.

Talk and music flowed. Couples danced until nearly dawn. Liz enjoyed herself so fully she paid scant attention to the dark looks Dustin Spencer cast her from an adjoining room.

Only after the adults crowded into the kitchen for Nan’s traditional country breakfast did anyone realize winter had set in outside with a vengeance. They quickly ended the festivities to hurry home to their ranches.

Unfortunately a series of storms kept Gil busy in the ensuing weeks—too busy to fulfill a single one of his outrageous New Year’s resolutions. The one Liz had particularly looked forward to was a promise to duplicate their weekend in Fort Worth. He’d confided it in a whisper on the harrowing ride home from the party. This
was at a time when all three kids sat on the edge of their seats, and Liz couldn’t even seal the bargain with a kiss.

Nevertheless, she dreamed about it often over the next two months as West Texas was pounded by one storm after another. She and Gil passed like falling stars in an endless night. Liz began to wonder if he’d actually made the wanton promise, or if it’d been wishful thinking on her part. Many times she gazed longingly at his back as he walked away with Rafe. Really, she would have settled for a hug.

School was closed more than it was open the month of January, what with ice storms followed by melting rains that caused flooding, followed by a series of tornadoes, one of which lifted the roof off the foaling barn. Through it all, Liz had more ups and downs with Dusty. He was forever dragging her off the job with pranks that too often sent her on wild-goose chases. Each time, he dared her with mocking eyes to run and tattle to his father.

Once she almost did—the day Buddy Hodges tied Melody’s cat to a makeshift parachute and tossed him out of the barn loft to Dustin, who stood below. Liz should have gone to Gil, but darn…he looked so harried these days she longed to ease his burden, not add to it. As a result, she took on a greater portion of the boys’ daily care. And the more she took on, the more Dustin resented her.

Rusty was a joy. A trooper. He and Melody sorted and folded laundry, cleaned their rooms and made their beds. They never fought unless Dusty egged them on. Dustin, who deemed manual labor and playing with a girl, beneath him.

“I wish Ben’d get back,” he declared one Saturday in mid-February. “Then Dad wouldn’t let you order us around no more. He only asked you to help out ‘cause
he’s busy, you know. Ask Shorty. My Dad said it ain’t ‘cause he wants a
wife.
”

Liz told herself five times that day it was childish pique talking. On the other hand, Gil rarely found opportunities to be with her these days. When he dragged in at night, he didn’t try to sneak her away from the kids to hug her or kiss her.

Although…Last Wednesday he’d brought her violets. The purple blooms filled the kitchen with their sweet scent, despite the pouring rain. He’d gone to town for feed and said he saw the potted plant in the florist’s window. On the way home his truck had slid into a muddy ditch. He’d spent hours digging out. The heavy ceramic pot had tumbled off the seat and overturned, crushing a few stems and his cell phone. The pot of violets exchanged hands with little fanfare.

Had she even thanked him? Or had she snapped because dinner was ruined and she’d been worried sick when he didn’t call? Did he suspect that some nights she ached for him? Everything would be much easier to bear if once in a while they could just hold each other. Maybe now that Rafe was back, the pressure would let up on Gil.

It didn’t. If anything, the pace grew wilder. To top it off, Ben’s sister called one Sunday in the early part of March—about the time everyone expected Ben back. She said the doctor wanted Ben off his feet another month or more. It was the “or more” that concerned Liz. Underlying it was an implication that he might not return. Since she’d taken the phone message, it was up to her to relay it to Gil. As she trudged up the path to the foaling barn, where several men, Gil for one, worked steadily on the new roof, it came to Liz that this last bit of news might open his eyes. Gilman Spencer
did
need a wife. His sons needed a mother. And she wanted both roles. .

“Lizbeth.” A smile chased away the weariness in Gil’s eyes the moment he saw her. “Hot coffee. Mmm. How is it you always know when we’re flagging?” He climbed down the ladder toward her and wound a dark curl that had escaped from beneath her hat around his finger. His features softening, he brushed the wispy tip across her nose. “Are you letting your hair grow?”

“When have I had time to get it cut?” She yanked the curl from his grasp. Sighing, she reached for the men’s cups that still lined the fence from an earlier break.

“It’s been a tough winter and now spring is late. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Lizbeth. When Ben gets back—”

“Gil, Ben’s sister phoned while I was making coffee.” It was her bad luck that the twins and Melody galloped up just as she finished telling Gil what the woman had said.

Dustin flung himself off the horse. “He’s gotta come back. He’s just gotta. Next week is spring break. I thought him and me and Rusty could do something.”

Liz noticed Dusty’s plans didn’t include her or Melody.

“Straighten up, Dustin, and stop whining,” Gil said. “This is no one’s fault.”

Not wanting to intrude on the heated discussion developing between father and son, Liz filled the cups and asked Rusty and Melody to deliver them while she returned to the house. She felt as if a yawning hole had opened where her heart belonged. Judging by the look on Dustin’s face, he’d never accept her as his stepmother.

No wonder Gil had applied the skids to a romance one of his sons so adamantly opposed. He
must
have noticed her ongoing struggle with Dustin. Not long ago Gil had asked her how the two of them were getting along.
It was the day after the incident with the cat. She shouldn’t have fibbed and said “okay.” But the last thing she wanted was to have Dustin label her a snitch.

Gloomy weather and gloomier thoughts chased Liz back to the cottage. It seemed unfair—when she and Gil had been so happy in Fort Worth—to have their hopes and dreams dashed by one small boy. But love didn’t seem to be in the cards for a lonely rancher and his equally lonely farrier.

Less than an hour later Liz happened to look out the kitchen window and saw Dustin riding his horse through her flower beds. The animal’s sharp hooves trampled new shoots just beginning to poke up through the harsh Texas soil. The boy’s thoughtless act snapped the last thread of her control. Not even realizing she was crying, Liz ran from the house. She fell to her knees and tried to salvage something. Anything. But the shoots were broken, beyond saving. Through her tears, she watched Dustin and his pal, Buddy Hodges, hightail it out of sight.

Gil, returning to the house for a tool, glanced toward the cottage and saw Liz amid tears and mud. Afraid she’d hurt herself somehow, he tore across the clearing. “Lizbeth, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”