Roz Fox - Trouble at Lone Spur

Darn! Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? Yet no more than a second slipped by before Liz called, “Wait. I’ll ice that leg and get a wrap on it while you catch forty winks.” She caught up to Spencer easily. “Look at you. You’re dead on your feet.” Avoiding his eyes, she murmured, “A vet will shoot her full of cortisone.”

Gil swallowed the refusal that sprang to his lips. Getting by without cortisone would be his preference, too. To find this woman so astute surprised him. Her offer was tempting. So tempting he let her take the reins from his grasp. A light herbal fragrance penetrated the trail dust clogging Gil’s nose. He stopped dead, feeling his tooempty stomach tighten. She smiled over her shoulder and the breath left his lungs.

It’d been seven years since Ginger moved out with her cases of powders and paints. With a pang, he wondered if his sons missed the sweet scents of womanhood as much as he did, or if they’d been too young to remember. Gil scowled; he didn’t like the path his mind had started to wander. He jogged after the woman and snatched Shady Lady’s reins without a word. Back stiff, he entered the dark barn, away from Lizbeth Robbins and the unwanted memories her presence triggered.

Vaguely hurt, she stayed outside. For a minute there, she’d detected a crack in Gil Spencer’s tough exterior. A brief softening deep in the green-gold eyes. Perhaps it was worth pursuing. For Melody’s sake, Liz didn’t want to give up this job without a fight.

Inside, the barn was cool after the heat of the midday sun. She stood a moment to let her eyes adjust and to overcome the sudden choking claustrophobia darkness always brought. Her ears picked up a clank as Spencer heaved the heavy saddle over a rail. Liz gritted her teeth and moved toward the familiar sound.

Gil didn’t have to see her to know the Robbins woman had followed him. Ignoring her, he began measuring feed into a trough. “You have unbelievable persistence. And you’re wasting my time.”

Her hands tightened into fists. To hell with him and his job. No one talked to her like that. “And you, Mr. Spencer, are unbelievably rude. Although I can’t fathom why that should surprise me, considering your sons had to get their bad manners from somewhere. ”

She spun on her low-heeled boots and would have left him had his right hand not shot out to stop her. For what seemed an eternity to Liz, his eyes blazed through the dim light and his fingers cut off the circulation in her upper arm. She would have jerked away if a fleeting something—pain, anxiety, vulnerability, whatever—hadn’t crept into his eyes.

She pushed at his hand, anyway, not liking the shiver that wound up her spine.

“What about my sons?” he asked, releasing her the moment she struggled.

“Nothing.” Liz truly regretted her childish retaliation. It was just that his arrogance made her so mad. Her temper was a weakness. Hoot always said it would be her downfall one day.

Gil massaged the back of his neck, then closed his eyes and smoothed a hand over gaunt cheeks ragged with a three-day beard. “Does it have anything to do with the meeting their teachers requested? Ben sent a note out to the roundup. I was headed in, but then I picked up the trail of a stock-killing cougar—” He broke off, opened his eyes a slit and sighed. Gil didn’t know why he was spilling his guts to a stranger. He should be having this conversation with Benjamin Jones, considering how much he paid the retired cowboy to cook and keep a line on the twins in his absence.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Liz said quickly. “The job is important to me, okay? I was disappointed, that’s all. I don’t know about any meeting at school.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced away from his tired eyes.

Gil silently observed the emotions crossing her delicate heart-shaped face. Outside, dressed in all that leather, she’d seemed small, but with it off she seemed…fragile. Feeling defensive, Gil turned back to the mare. He led her into a large stall with overhead refrigerated plumbing. He’d built it to deal with injuries to ligaments and tendons. As he uncoiled a hose, Gil said gruffly, “Rusty and Dusty don’t like school much. Fall is hardest, after they’ve spent all summer out on the range with me. Going back means they miss roundup. Not that I’m excusing bad manners, mind you. But…out of curiosity, what did they do?”

If she hadn’t been occupied inspecting his stall setup, Liz might not have answered with such honesty. She hunkered down beside where he knelt to lend a hand with the wrap and spoke without thinking. “You mean besides the snake in my bed? Or emptying my cookie jar on more than one occasion and then denying it? Or when they interrupted my work to claim their cat was caught in a crevice? I went to investigate, got down on all fours with my nose to the ground, and lo and behold, the furry ball I reached in and grabbed turned out to be a skunk. The devious little rats were quite disappointed to find out I could run so fast. And that’s what they pulled the first week I was here.”

Disbelieving at first, Gil did nothing while she finished the wrap. Then he reconsidered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Robbins. I’ll speak with them and withhold their privileges.”

Liz secured the loose end and stood, but was thrown off guard when she saw the troubled shadows lurking in his eyes. “Hey, look, it’s no big deal. Maybe it’s because I’m new and can’t always tell them apart,” she ventured. “Why don’t you go grab some sleep? I really am capable of keeping an eye on your horse.”

Gil rose more slowly, hating to admit her offer held any appeal. “My sons’ behavior is always a big deal to me, Mrs. Robbins.” Dammit, he was disturbed by what she’d said. Although he supposed there was a chance she was lying to gain his sympathy. After all, she might have invented these escapades for the sake of keeping her job. And didn’t he just know how deceitful women could be when it suited their purposes?

“I’ll square the Lone Spur’s debt to you the minute Rafe returns. Today. And the mare will be okay until the boys get home from school. You’ll need the time to pack.” Gil touched two fingers to his hat brim and without waiting for a response left the barn through a side door.

Liz curled a hand into the mare’s thick mane and gaped after him. Her mistake had been in believing he could be human. Tipping his hat had been out of habit, not courtesy, she decided. For a moment his brusque dismissal hurt more than she cared to acknowledge.

Then the mare nudged her, nibbling at her pocket. Liz got hold of her feelings and went in search of a feed bag. In the half hour it took the animal to eat and drink her fill, Liz rebuilt her defenses. She reminded herself that she had good health, skill in a marketable trade, and Melody. She didn’t need anything from the likes of Gil Spencer.

Lizbeth Robbins was a survivor.

LIZ WASN’T ONE to cry over bad luck, and in her twenty-eight years she’d had plenty—estranged from her family at eighteen, widowed, broke and pregnant at twenty-two. Being tossed off the Lone Spur was a disappointment, but once she got the money she had coming, she and Melody would make do. Without it, they’d be stuck. Liz would be darned, though, if she’d let Gilman Spencer know she only had sixteen dollars to her name.

He said he’d pay her when Padilla returned. She’d watched Rafe load those yearlings, all full of jazz and spirit. The amount Spencer owed her wouldn’t make a dent in the profit from Night Fire’s offspring.

Liz made her way outside. She reminded herself that she still had to soak the stud’s feet. She cast a glance back toward the barn, which she knew contained a stall with the requisite mud floor. But the stallion would tear up the place trying to get to Shady Lady if Liz took him inside. Although the treatment wouldn’t be as effective, she’d flood a section of the small corral, instead.