Trouble at Lone Spur. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ through Melody’s bangs and wondered if the Spencer twins would remember the cupcakes long enough to grant her the favor of returning the books to school on Monday.

      Near midnight Liz thought the mare’s leg looked a little better. She had dug through the supply cabinets and found two ingredients, liniment and DMSO, an anti-inflammatory salve. Some vets eschewed using either or both. In the past she’d had some success mixing the two. Her father always stressed trying homeopathic methods before using steroids. On that they agreed.

      Melody slept on, and Liz lost track of time as she alternated the applications with ice packs.

      

      GIL AWOKE with a start and looked at the clock—2:00 a.m? He still lay naked and crosswise on his king-size bed. The last thing he recollected was toweling off after he’d showered and shaved. All at once Gil remembered Shady Lady. He grabbed the clock and shook it. Was that the right time? He’d sent the twins for the vet. Why hadn’t someone come for him when Doc Shelton arrived?

      Bolting off the bed, Gil searched his closet in the dark for a clean pair of jeans. He jerked them on, tugged on his boots, then hurried from his room and down the stairs, stopping at the second level to check on the boys. The pair were sleeping soundly in their bunk beds. The ranch house was big enough so each could have had a separate room, but every time he suggested it, they declined.

      Smiling at the way Dustin slept with his rump in the air and Rusty lay curled around a raggedy stuffed dog, Gil backed out, closed the door and smothered a yawn. The teachers separated them at school, claiming that otherwise they couldn’t tell the boys apart. Gil didn’t understand that. He had no trouble. Dustin did everything with a swagger, sort of like his great-grandfather Spencer. That kid was a leader, a mover and a shaker. Lately, more of an instigator.

      Gil paused on the landing to glance back at the closed door. Sobered, he headed down the next flight. Russell, now, was a thinker. A cuddler. He was also a follower, which worried Gil. He wished he had more free time to spend with his sons. Ben Jones, by his own admission, was slowing down. The boys needed someone caring yet energetic. A tall order.

      Gil couldn’t say why, when he stepped outside into the moonlight, his gaze strayed to the cottage snuggled beneath the live oaks—the ranch farrier’s cottage. She fairly oozed energy. Clattering disgustedly down the steps, Gil jogged to the back door of the barn. He counted on the crisp night air to clear his head. He’d pretty well succeeded in shaking out the cobwebs when he burst through the barn’s side door and tripped over the woman who muddied his thoughts.

      “Oof!” Liz let out a muffled scream as she fell. She’d taken Shady Lady out of her stall and they’d ambled the length of the barn. She was bent over checking the mare’s sore leg when a shadowy hulk barreled through the door, knocking her flat.

      Gil grabbed for her and missed. His momentum toppled both of them to the hard-packed earthen floor. He sprawled over her, as yet unable to get his bearings.

      She landed an elbow in his diaphragm, stealing his wind.

      “Get off me.” Instinct prompted her wild struggle. For a second Liz feared Macy Rydell had decided to take revenge for the twins’ practical joke. It dawned slowly that she didn’t smell Rydell’s strong cologne; the warm skin pressed against her nose exuded the subtle scent of spruce.

      Liz lay still, breathing deeply. It was silly to be attracted or repelled by a man’s cologne, but from the first day she’d met Corbett, she’d been drawn by his clean scent of heather and sea breeze. When good memories sneaked in like this, Liz still had problems accepting the unfairness of Corbett’s early death.

      Her sudden quiescence allowed Gil time to scramble up. “What in hell are you doing in my barn at this hour?” he demanded, extending her a hand.

      The warm feelings evaporated instantly. “Not stealing your horse, if that’s what’s running through your mind.” She batted his hand aside and climbed to her feet unaided. “Twice we’ve met, Mr. Spencer, and twice I’ve bruised more than my pride. Haven’t you ever heard of a handshake?”

      Gil ignored her sarcasm. He’d bent to examine Shady Lady’s trim ankles. It was difficult to tell which leg had been injured. “So, were you here when Doc Shelton came by? I thought the boys would wake me.”

      “Your vet had a house fire. According to the kids, he’s temporarily moved his practice into town. His neighbor didn’t know exactly where.”

      “Then the ice water did the trick. Guess that leg wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

      Liz debated whether or not to mention her home remedy, and decided he needed to know. “I popped in here after supper. Your horse had managed to twist herself up in the sling. I rummaged around and found cold packs, then alternated them with a topical mixture my dad used on his thoroughbreds. I was just walking her, to see if the swelling stayed down.”

      Frowning, Gil ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

      Liz’s eyes followed the play of muscles down his arm and chest. She’d assumed, because of the long-sleeved shirt he’d worn earlier, that the skin beneath would be pale. In fact, his tan was the color of Kentucky bourbon and covered every inch of his flesh she could see. And that was quite a few inches. No farmer’s tan for Gilman Spencer. He bronzed nicely for someone with so much red in his hair. Liz studied his body with open appreciation.

      Gil noticed. He ran a self-conscious hand over his bare chest. “Sorry if I offend your Southern sensibilities. I didn’t expect to find ladies in my barn at this hour—except the equine variety.”

      Liz didn’t flush or look away. “Who says I’m Southern?”

      Gil crossed his arms and laughed. “You have that drawl, Miss Scarlett.”

      Whirling, Liz led Shady Lady to an empty stall she’d spread deep with sand and sawdust, then covered with fresh hay. “I was born and raised in bluegrass country. We don’t consider ourselves Southern.”

      “That’s right,” he said lightly as he followed her. “You said your daddy raises thoroughbreds. So why aren’t you home in Kentucky shoeing his horses?”

      Liz felt a knife blade slide into her heart. How had their conversation taken this turn? Corbett and Hoot Bell were the only two people who knew about her permanent estrangement from her parents. Melody had never asked about grandparents or her lack thereof. Liz wanted to keep it that way. The poor kid had enough strikes against her having never known her father. Patting Shady Lady’s silky nose one last time, she backed out of the stall and quietly closed the door. “I’ve left the mixture for her leg in the fridge. You should use it liberally two or three times a day until the swelling’s completely gone. And don’t ride her for a week. But I’m sure you know that.” Liz strode briskly through the barn, stopping where Melody lay asleep in the hay.

      Gil wondered at being so rattled by Lizbeth Robbins that he hadn’t seen the child until now. He was even more puzzled by the woman’s curt response.

      “Wait,” he called as she bent and slid her hands beneath the girl. “You aren’t going to carry her, are you? She must weigh fifty pounds.”

      “Forty-four,” Liz replied. “And I’m quite capable, Mr. Spencer.”

      Gil didn’t know why it grated on his nerves when she said “Mr. Spencer” in that tone, but it did. “I’ll take her,” he offered politely, refraining from suggesting СКАЧАТЬ