Trouble At Lone Spur (27 page)

Liz didn’t wait for him. She flew out the door and into his arms. The kiss they shared was everything she remembered and more.

“God, but you do feel good.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her and nuzzled her ear.

She peeked into the vehicle. “Gil, where’s Dustin?”

“I’m just home to sign paychecks and get clean clothes. He contracted a staph infection and they have to do the graft again.”

“Oh, no! Gil, that’s terrible. No wonder you look exhausted. Come inside. I’ll heat some of my potato soup. And I baked cupcakes tonight.” She clung to his hand. “Besides, I want to talk to you about Rusty.”

Gil followed her into the bright familiar kitchen and hung his Stetson on a peg beside the door. Lord, but he’d missed this. Missed her. He stole another kiss before she took the soup from the fridge and popped it into the microwave. “So,” he said, taking a seat at the table, “don’t
tell me Russell’s been up to tricks. I’m not sure I can face dealing with another rebellious son.”

“No.” She placed a steaming bowl in front of him. “From what Rusty’s told me, I gather he’s being unnecessarily reprimanded at home and often neglected.” Liz plunked a plate with two slices of bread beside him and poured a mug of coffee.

Gil paused, spoon halfway to his lips. “Neglected? According to Ginger, they’re getting along very well.”

“Really? When have you talked to Ginger?”

He finished that mouthful, then another. “She’s called nearly every night to check on Dustin. She’s changed, Lizbeth. I think she’s trying to be a good mother.”

Liz’s mouth fell agape, “A good—” Snapping her teeth closed, she whirled, picked up a sponge and began wiping down the counters. “Well, excuse me, Gilman Spencer. I think you’ve gone soft in the head. Why don’t you ask Yancy and Luke what they’ve observed?”

He set his spoon aside and rose. “Yes, let’s talk about Yancy and Luke. I understand they spend more time here than they do wrangling horses.”

Liz dropped the sponge. “They’ve stopped by to see how I’m doing. I injured my hands, Gil. I didn’t realize I was in quarantine.”

Gold lights smoldered deep in his hazel eyes. “The way I hear it, your place has a revolving door when it comes to those two. Dammit, Lizbeth, the neighbors know we’ve been dating. They gossiped about me once. I won’t have it happen again.”

Heat worked its way up her throat, to her cheeks. “A revolving door to my place? Just what does that mean, Gil?”

“I think you know, Lizbeth. I’m waiting for you to deny it.”

“Deny that two men I work with every day care about me? Gil, this is silly. Why are we arguing?”

Wheeling, he snatched his hat. Shoulders stiff, he said, “If you won’t deny flirting—or worse—with all my employees the minute my back is turned, maybe there’s some truth to that story of Ginger’s. She announced to me and half the world that she caught you and Avery in a compromising situation. I even saw it in the paper! Frankly, I looked for them to print your rebuttal. Perhaps there wasn’t anything to rebut. And now you don’t deny that you’ve been entertaining wranglers. What am I supposed to think?”

Liz felt her breath leave her lungs in one long hiss. So
that
was where all this had been leading. His unwarranted accusation hurt so much she thought she might die of it. No one on the circuit who knew her had believed Ginger’s filthy lies. Apparently the man who professed to love her did. “Get out,” she said the minute the pain let up enough for her to speak.

He went. Without a word and without a backward glance.

Numb, Liz couldn’t move until after she heard the door of the Suburban slam and the ping of gravel striking her east wall. If he loved her, how could he believe such a thing?.

All night she was haunted by the knowledge that she hadn’t denied his accusation. She loved him, after all. She thought he loved her. She sighed. They were both too proud and stubborn for their own good. One of them would have to bend.

Next morning, after the school bus left, Liz made up her mind that she was going to see Gil and talk this out. She quickly wrapped the present she’d had Luke buy in
town for Dustin and marched up to the kitchen door of the big house, fully ready to extend a peace offering.

Mrs. Morley informed her that “Mr. Spencer” was too busy to be disturbed. Before Liz could object, the woman whisked the gift from her hand and shut the door in her face. Simmering, Liz strode off to the corral. She’d catch him later.

Only she didn’t. Midday, in the process of shoeing a balky horse, Liz saw Gil’s Suburban roar down the lane, leaving a rooster tail of dust. She’d-no more than finished when Rafe stopped by, and in the course of their-conversation, he made a curious statement.

“You might want to find someplace to board those horses Gil gave you. Ginger’s got her eye on the filly. She thinks Snowbaby has the look of a champion barrel racer.”

“I’m sure Gil will tell her they belong to me.”

“I told her. Didn’t seem to faze her.”

Liz stuck a hot shoe in cold water and watched it sizzle. She wondered if Rafe could see the steam coming out from under her collar, too. Ginger was a spoiled willful woman, obsessed with owning a winning horse. Liz knew those things for a fact. But in this case it wasn’t her responsibility to set Ginger straight. It was Gil’s. “Well, Rafe, I don’t want to board them. As soon as I have time, I’m going to start their training.”

“Oh, so you’re taking them when you leave?” Nodding, he turned toward the barn.

His deceptively casual question nearly bowled Liz over. What was that all about? Surely Rafe didn’t still think she was leaving in May? Liz wrestled with a sinking sensation as she watched him saddle up and ride out. Gil had never come right out and said that the situation between
them bad changed, that they’d eventually be getting married. She’d just assumed.

Her mood shattered, Liz finished putting Bell Boots on a sorrel gelding that Yancy claimed was throwing his right front shoe. The horse wouldn’t do it for her, and Liz didn’t want to shoe him wrong. She’d run him in soft boots and keep him close in case she needed to experiment with leather shims.

The sorrel was her last project for the day. Since she had a couple of hours free before the school bus was due, Liz decided to take a run over to the Littlefields’ ranch, on the off chance Nan had talked with Gil.

“Nary a word,” Nan said as she ushered Lizbeth into the kitchen where she was making strawberry jam. “I didn’t know he’d come home. Morris has to take some beef into San Antonio tomorrow. I’ll have him stop by Children’s Hospital. I hear Ginger’s charging stuff all over town in Gil’s name.”

“Well, she is running his house. Rusty told me she went to Fort Worth last week to pick up a mare someone was breeding to Night Fire. Gil must have authorized it.”

“Don’t you stick up for her, Liz. She’s bad-mouthing you every chance she gets.”

“I know. Our rift goes way back. To when I had to shoe her spoiled horse.”

“Yeah, well, watch out. Morris and Kyle Mason think she’s been snooping into Gil’s finances. He was landpoor when they got divorced. Obviously the Lone Spur’s worth a lot more now. You have time for coffee?”

“No. Mel and Rusty will be getting home soon.”

“How’s Rusty getting along without his brother? Those two haven’t been apart more than a schoolday since they were born.”

“He misses Dustin of course. I think he misses Gil more. Poor kid spends all his free time at the cottage. At least I can try and provide stability. Although I don’t want to do anything that would undermine Gil.”

“You hang in till Gilman gets back for good. Things will change. You’ll see.”

Boy, howdy, did they.

That evening, while the children were in the barn checking out a new litter of kittens, Ginger paid Liz a visit. “How soon can you vacate the cottage?” she asked without prelude. Liz had just turned back to the sink to finishing slicing fresh spring carrots.

Liz dropped the knife in the sink with a clatter. “Vacate the cottage?”

Ginger studied her crimson nails. “Didn’t Rafe tell you? Gil hired a new farrier. The best. You may have heard of him. Lex Burnaby.”

Liz had. Burnaby free-lanced a huge area south of San Antonio. It wasn’t that Gil hadn’t warned her he’d be looking for a new farrier come May—but that had been
before.
She’d just thought…What had she thought? Sorrow, then anger bubbled in her chest. Tears pushed at the back of her eyes. She’d be darned if she’d let so much as one tear trickle its way out in front of Ginger Lawrence.

Drawing up to her full height, Liz said coolly, “I can be out of here as soon as Gil pays me in full.” And there it was—she’d come full circle.

Ginger smiled. “No problem. He asked me to give out the checks.” Cocky as hell, she fanned through a sheaf of envelopes and pulled out one bearing Liz’s name. “Oh, one other thing.” Ginger jerked back the check and tapped it against her bloodred lips. “Gil changed his mind about giving you those two horses. Really, he’s letting
you off easy, considering all it’s costing us for Dustin’s care.”

“Dustin’s care?”

Ginger hunched a slim shoulder as she passed Liz the envelope. “You
were
in charge of looking after Dusty. We could press charges of neglect.”

Liz’s heart cracked. Gil couldn’t have struck a lower blow. With trust between them in shambles, there was no hope at all of salvaging their love. But then, how could she be so obtuse? Those two little words of Ginger’s—“us” and “we”—should have been her clue. They went hand in hand with Gil’s earlier proclamation that Ginger had changed.

“Excuse me,” Liz said. “I have things to do.” She wouldn’t break down. Not in front of that horrible smug woman.

B
RIGHT AND EARLY
the next morning, Melody’s tears put the first chink in Liz’s armor. The second came when Rusty flung his arms around her waist. “Why? Why are you going away?” he cried. “I don’t want you to.”

“I have to, Rusty. Ask your father why.” Liz gently pulled free. She had to physically put Melody and her cat into the old pickup’s cab. The truck bed was filled with their ragtag belongings. Everything she owned in the world.

“I love you,” Rusty sobbed, “and now you’re leaving me, too. Please don’t go. Stay. Please!”

“Oh, honey, no. Look, your mom’s waiting on the porch. G-go to her,” Liz stammered, her throat clogged. In the end she left him sobbing beside the lane while she tried to gauge the road through a shimmer of tears. She drove between the iron gates of the Lone Spur ranch, never finding the strength to look back.

Running. She was always running. Melody deserved better. She deserved roots, dammit. A home.

It was past time she met her grandparents. The Whitleys might be stern, but they weren’t monsters. Home was the place to heal old wounds. And new ones.

Stopping at the crossroad, Liz remembered Gil’s teasing once that a right turn led to Mars. But really, a right turn led to the interstate—and if she stayed on it, to Kentucky. Liz had never gotten around to writing her parents, but home was where a person went for comfort when there was no place else to go.

M
ELODY HUGGED
Mittens and sniffled for twenty miles. Then she fell asleep, leaving Liz to deal with her conscience and memories and might-have-beens.

Among her more distressing concerns was the fact that she’d taken Mel out of school early again. There’d been no logical excuse she could give Melody’s teacher; anything she said would be twisted, embellished and bandied about town, thanks to Ginger. Liz didn’t care about malicious gossip for her own sake or Gil’s, but she’d hate it if the twins got the wrong impression of what she and Gil had been to each other. What they’d shared in Fort Worth had been beautiful and real. For her at least.

Liz wiped a tear from her eye and gripped the wheel tightly. It was best to forget the Spencers and concentrate on meeting her parents. What could she say to them, just showing up on their doorstep after all these years? Calling ahead seemed pointless, since this was something she had to do. What if they refused to let her come home? Could she blame them? Sorry didn’t always make things right. It was so easy to see now—with her life in shambles again—how they’d both erred, she and her parents. But still, she had to face the possibility that an apology might not be enough.

After three days of hard driving, of twisting herself into knots over the upcoming reunion, she was there. Home. She pulled into the lane leading through fields of
bluegrass to the farmhouse. In many ways, going into that black hole after Dustin had been easier. Anxiety. Fear. She felt overwhelmed by both as she eased her foot off the clutch and drove the mile to the house. Now she wished she’d prepared Melody, who gaped at the acres of grass and demanded to know why they were stopping.

“You’ll see in a minute,” Liz murmured, parking under a spreading elm that once hadn’t seemed half this big. The tree provided ample shade for the trailer carrying Melody’s pony. Clinging tightly to her daughter’s hand, Liz marched up the porch steps and rapped soundly on the door—before she could chicken out.

Toliver Whitley, stooped and nearly white-haired, opened the door just a crack. For a moment he stared at Liz through the screen, shock entering the dark eyes so very like Melody’s. Abruptly and without a word, he flung the door wide and engulfed Liz in a trembling bear hug. “Mother! Mother!” he shouted back into the house. “Come see who’s here. It’s a miracle, I tell you, a miracle!”

Her parents’ ready acceptance of her and Melody was both gratifying and humbling to Liz. She was grateful that her dad declared a holiday from work on the farm. That in itself surprised her. In the days before she’d run off with Corbett, nothing short of death would have taken her father away from his beloved horses.

The humbling part came with his tearful confession. “We thought you were lost to us forever, child. Did you know we hired a detective to find you? His agency gave up after three years. Where on earth have you been? We more or less assumed you’d go back to Montana with Corbett’s people.”

“Oh, Dad. He had no people, except for foster homes and me. It’s one reason I always wanted to write and tell
you about Melody.
He
would have wanted me to. I can’t tell you how many times I started letters. I’m ashamed that I never mailed them.”

“All that’s past,” her mother murmured, gazing lovingly at a grandchild who still didn’t quite know what to make of finding out she had grandparents. “We won’t speak of regrets, my dear. Toliver and I have many, as obviously you do. Tell us about your life, Lizbeth, and don’t leave out any details.” She patted a couch cushion next to her. A happy smile took years off her lined face.

They sat for hours catching up in a living room that was familiar to Liz, yet changed. Fabric worn. Colors faded. For the first time, the house she remembered wasn’t spotless. There was a bit of clutter that, strangely, made Liz’s confession easier. The severity of this house and the endless bleakness of her daily routine had been closely tied to her leaving here. Now, fortunately, her parents had mellowed; so had she.

Liz spoke with pride of Corbett’s rodeo successes. She glossed over the last few months on the Lone Spur. “My love of horses—actually my decision to become a farrier—came from you, Dad. Horses are in the Whitley blood, I think.”

The older man beamed. “You always had a gentle hand. Perhaps I should have let you be a jockey like you wanted. Then, I didn’t think it seemly for a woman. Now I’ve hired two.” His eyes held frank apology.

“Really? Maybe you’ll give me a job shoeing your thoroughbreds. I drive a true nail and the shoes I forge fit like a dream.”

“I have no doubt of that. But…Lizbeth, I’ve just sold the farm.”

“Sold? Are you sick? Mother?” Liz flashed a troubled glance between the two.

“Not sick, tuckered out. Owning horses is demanding work. With you gone, there seemed little point in continuing to build a legacy.”

Liz winced. She understood, and her understanding brought poignant memories of another horse owner. Gil, who ran on empty much of the time. Gil, who worked day and night to build a ranch worthy of his grandfather’s dream. Because it made her feel closer to him, she pulled his lucky piece from her jeans pocket and ran a thumb idly over the diamond chips that outlined the delicate horseshoe and the spur’s heel band. There’d been no time to give the key chain back. She hadn’t been able to make herself go up to the house and hand it over to Ginger. She’d have to mail it to Gil.

“What’s that you have?” her mother asked. “It’s pretty. Was it something Corbett won?”

Melody came to swing on her mother’s knee. She giggled as her cat leapt up to bat the dangling spur. “It’s for luck—for when Mommy went down the hole after Dusty. Nan told me Mommy saved Dustin’s life,” she said importantly.

The color drained from the older woman’s face. “Dusty? Not the family whose child fell down a well? The story made our local paper. Toliver still refuses to contaminate our home with television. My goodness, you knew those poor people, Lizbeth?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I worked for Gilman Spencer. I’m surprised you didn’t read that Dustin was in my care when he took the tumble. He and I had a history of sorts.” She sighed. “He loved to play tricks on me.” In a few words she recapped what had led up to those horrible few days. Her tone grew somber when she added that the twins’ father apparently believed she’d been negligent. Liz minimized the part she’d actually played
in Dustin’s rescue. She didn’t want to talk about anything that followed.

Mrs. Whitley knotted her hands. “I can’t believe Mr. Spencer would blame you for a child’s willfulness. However, if it’s the reason you’ve come home, I can only be thankful that he’s such a callous man.”

“He’s not. As a rule Gil is kind, caring and generous.” Liz broke off, feeling a rosy flush stain her cheeks. Why was she defending him? Not long ago she wouldn’t have believed him capable of the pettiness involved in taking back the foals he’d given her. To say nothing of letting Ginger do his dirty work. It wasn’t at all like Gil. At least it wasn’t like the man she
thought
he was—the man with whom she’d fallen in love.

Her father lifted a brow. “I don’t think your mother meant to malign him. If anyone knows the damage done by words spoken in the heat of the moment, we do. Hasty accusations have a way of coming back to haunt you. Loneliness makes a person repent quick enough. Let the dust settle, then give this Mr. Spencer a call, Lizbeth.”

“Me?” she flared, the fire in her cheeks stinging again. “It’ll be a cold day in he—”

“Lizbeth!” Her mother jumped up and steered Melody toward the stairs. “Melody and I will go make up your rooms. I’m sure you’ll want to shower before dinner.”

Dinner in Kentucky was supper in West Texas. Supper she normally cooked for Gil and the boys. Liz could only nod and blink rapidly as she stood and stuffed Gil’s lucky key chain deep into her front pocket. Gil wasn’t lonely—he had Ginger. And therein lay the crux of her problem. If he’d thrown her over for anyone else…But Liz couldn’t bring herself to admit any of this to her father.

Toliver Whitley frowned. “Lizbeth, you help your mother with the rooms. It’ll give you two a chance to catch up. I’ll show Melody the stables and we’ll bed her pony.”

Rising, Liz nodded.

Melody skipped ahead of her grandfather and opened the back gate of the horse trailer. As they walked the pony toward the stables, Toliver Whitley asked, “How does our farm compare to that Lone Spur ranch?”

Screwing up her face, Melody looked around. “It wasn’t green, but it’s…my home. I didn’t wanna leave. I hope we get to go back.” Then her stories tumbled out—about her good experiences at school and Christmas and the fun she and her mom had with the Spencers.

“Sounds like Mr. Spencer’s being unfair over this incident with his son, considering all the extra things you say your mom did for him around the ranch.”

“Would you tell him that, Grandfather? I wanna go back and finish school.” She gazed at him, her lower lip quivering. “I think Mommy really likes him a lot.”

“Maybe I can, honeybunch, maybe I can. It just might make up for the terrible wrong I did your daddy once.”

G
IL SPENT
a grueling seven days waiting at the hospital, worrying whether Dusty’s latest skin graft would take. Though it was touch and go for days, when they finished the results looked good. Monday of the second week, Dustin’s doctors said he was improved enough to recuperate at the Lone Spur.

Driving in past the cottage, Gil suffered a jolt of guilt over how he’d left things with Lizbeth. Jealousy carved up a man’s heart and made mush of his brain. More than once he’d picked up the phone to apologize for wanting
her to deny something he knew deep inside was false. But somehow, saying sorry over the phone stuck in a man’s craw. So yesterday he’d foundered about in one of those ladies’ shops and had come out with a scrap of emerald silk he hoped would make apology a lot sweeter for both of them.

And for afterward—once he’d convinced Lizbeth to forgive his horrible stupidity—a ring with a pink diamond. He patted his jacket pocket to make sure the black velvet box was still there. That was when Gil noticed a stranger in his corral. A big dark-haired man. “Who’s that with Shady Lady?”

Gil braked beside Ginger’s car and craned his neck to see over Dustin’s head. It brought stabbing memories of the first time he’d laid eyes on Lizbeth Robbins.

Dusty stared out the side window. “I dunno.”

Gil climbed out and put the same question to his second son, who’d just raced from the house to fling his arms around Gil’s middle.

“That’s Mr. Burnaby. Gosh, Dad, I’m glad you’re home.” Wriggling out of Gil’s hug, Rusty dashed around the car and yanked the door open for his twin. Suddenly he seemed shy with his brother, or possibly ill at ease with Dusty’s bandages.

Gil circled the hood more slowly. “Lex Burnaby? The farrier?”

“Yep.” Rusty grabbed Dustin’s duffle. “How long ‘fore you can go ridin’? Buddy’s been askin’,” he informed his twin.

“So you did miss me, nerd.” Dusty peered behind his brother. “Hey, where’s your shadow?” Cradling his injured arm, Dustin awkwardly disembarked. “Melody, birdbrain,” he elaborated when Rusty’s brow furrowed.

“Russell,” Gil interrupted, clamping a hand on his son’s bony shoulder. “Why is Burnaby shoeing Shady Lady? Where’s Lizbeth?”

“Gone.” A tear sneaked out from beneath a dark eyelash. “Her and Melody. They left last week. But who cares? It’s
her
fault Dusty fell in that dumb well. ‘Sides, she’s nothin’ but a big ol’ thief.”

“Gone? Thief? Rusty, where in thunder do you come up with such farfetched notions? Stop it and tell me what’s going on.”

“I am. Mom told Mrs. Morley that Dusty wouldn’t a fell in that hole if Lizbeth had been watchin’ us like she shoulda been. That was right before she called the cops ‘cause Melody’s mom left and took your grandpa’s lucky spur with her.”

“Ginger called the cops?”

“It wasn’t a cop, ‘xactly. A detective, I think.”

Gil didn’t like the picture he was getting. Nor did he like the pool of acid beginning to slosh in his stomach.

Dustin fiddled with his sling, then squinted at his dad. “Mom called me the other day when you were out—to ask if I had your lucky spur. She ‘splained that it’s diamonds’n stuff. I guess you’re pissed ‘cause Mrs. Robbins stole it, huh, Dad?”

“Dustin Lawrence Spencer! Bandaged or not, you’re cruising for a mouthwash. And just for the record, I
gave
that key chain to Lizbeth. For luck—when she crawled in the tunnel to haul you out. Boys, do you have any idea what a brave thing she did? Dustin owes his life to Lizbeth!”

Each boy mumbled something unintelligible. Dustin finally admitted he’d been pretty glad to see her. “I thought ‘bout all the mean stuff I’d done. I said I was sorry.”

Gil gazed at the house a long time, his hands splayed on his hips. “You fellows will have to trust me on this, but your mother is about to pack up and leave us again. Then we three are going to sit down and have a longoverdue talk about honesty, integrity and love. Stick close to your rooms, okay?”

“Gol-ly,” said Rusty as his dad strode away. “All this comin’ and goin’ around here is makin’ me dizzy.”

“Yeah,” his brother muttered, “’cept Dad’s right. What Mrs. Robbins did
was
pretty cool. I’m tellin’ you, Russ, I was scared shitless.”

“No kiddin’? You ain’t never scared.”

“Well, I was. I hope she comes back. Things’ll be different. I won’t be mean to her no more. I swear on a stack of Bibles.”

“Then I don’t ‘spect Dad’ll mind you said ‘shitless.’ I think he likes Mrs. Robbins a lot.”

“Let’s you’n me go watch the fireworks ‘tween him and Mom.”

“Sure. I hope Dad sends that mean ol’ Mrs. Morley with her.”

“So, you ain’t gonna miss our mom?”

“Naw. She’s not much like a real mom. She’s kinda mean. And she’s always yellin’ at me to go away. ‘Sides, I think she likes horses more’n she likes me. Or Dad.”

“Boy, Russ. Bein’ an adult sucks.”

“Yeah. So does bein’ a kid. I wish we knew how to get Mel and her mom back.”

“Let’s ask Buddy Hodges. He knows everything ‘bout women.”