sixty. And his bones hurt bad. Dusty said he got throwed from a mean horse and had to quit bein’ a cowboy. That’s why he hates his job.”
“Surely he didn’t say that to the twins,” Liz exclaimed. “Maybe Dusty just told you that to gain your sympathy.”
Melody shrugged.
“Well, never mind. Run along.” Liz knew she shouldn’t encourage Melody to speculate about her friends. But if this was true, it might explain why the twins swiped cookies, engaged in pranks and generally lacked discipline. Did Gil Spencer know how his houseman felt? She recalled the rapier gaze that missed little and decided he must. Anyway, by this time tomorrow, she’d be too worried about where Melody’s next meal was coming from to feel sorry for a couple of kids who’d been born into the luxury of the Lone Spur Ranch.
THE BARN DOOR squeaked as it slid open. Gil glanced tiredly over the tops of his sons’ heads. The sunlight hurt his eyes. It seemed he’d no more than dozed off when the boys bounced into his bedroom. He’d decided to check on Shady Lady and was glad. She needed a vet.
Once his vision adjusted, Gil saw that a petite dark-haired girl stood in the sun filtering through the door’s narrow opening. A pretty child, with huge chocolate brown eyes. Gil frowned. The eyes looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen them. It was rare for his sons to have visitors he didn’t know.
The twins swiveled to see what had claimed their dad’s attention. “Melody,” they chorused. “Whazzat you got?” Rushing to meet her, they grabbed from the plates she held. “Cookies. Um, yum.”
“Wait,” she said, jerking the plates away. “You’re s’pose to ask if it’s okay to have some. My mom said to ask Mr. Jones but—Is that your dad?” she asked.
“‘Course it’s all right if we have cookies, dummy,” said the twin holding the biggest fistful.
Gil stepped out of the stall, his frown deepening. “Russell David Spencer. I don’t object to your having a treat, but I do object to your calling anyone a dummy. Apologize.” As he spoke, Gil recalled the new farrier’s complaint about his sons, and he realized the girl watched him with the same wide velvety gaze as…Lizbeth—wasn’t that the woman’s name? Yes, and now he recalled she’d mentioned a daughter.
“Hello,” he said, smiling down at the girl. “Russell,” Gil prompted. “No apology, no cookie.”
“Oh, Dad, she’s just a girl.”
That statement drew an even sterner look from Gil.
Dustin, quicker on the uptake than his brother, jammed an elbow in his twin’s ribs. “Rusty’s sorry, Melody. Aren’t you, nerd?” he hissed.
“Dustin, it’s no better to call your brother names. What’s with you guys all of a sudden? I don’t have time to get to the bottom of this now, but tomorrow we’re having a family caucus.”
“Now you did it, ding-dong,” Dusty muttered.
“Me? You’re the one callin’ me names,” Rusty shot back.
Gil placed his thumb and little finger between his teeth and issued an earsplitting whistle. All three kids jumped. “Enough. Go inside and ask Ben for some milk to go with the cookies,” he said firmly. “I have to call Dr. Shelton to see if he’ll take a gander at Shady Lady’s leg, then I’m going back up to bed. Do you think you can quit bickering long enough to let a man get forty winks?”
As if their heads were connected by a string, the kids nodded of one accord. The twins raced off. Melody hung back and offered Gil a cookie. “Your horse hurt its leg?” she asked after he’d accepted one and thanked her.
“She stepped in a hole.” One-handed, Gil punched out a number on the telephone that hung on the barn wall. “Do you like horses? Blast,” he muttered, glaring at the bleating phone. “Vet’s line is still busy.” Scowling, Gil downed the cookie in two bites.
“My mom’ll help. She knows everything about a horse’s feet and legs. Hoot said she knows more’n a vet.”
Gil choked on a crumb. “Well, if Hoot’s your mom’s boyfriend, then he’s probably biased.” After he dusted off his mouth, he dialed again.
Melody rolled her eyes. “Hoot’s not Mom’s boyfriend. He’s the best rodeo clown alive. Want another cookie? My mom made ‘em. ‘Course, her chocolate-chip ones are better. And her brownies. They’re the very best.”
Gil listened to the insistent busy signal, trying to recall how long it’d been since he last ate a homemade cookie of any kind. Maybe at his friend and fellow rancher Morris Littlefield’s home. His wife, Nancy, took pity on Gil and the boys every few months and invited them to dinner. Mostly she served apple pie for dessert because it was the twins’ favorite. Come to think of it, the last time he’d had cookies that didn’t come from a package was at the June breeders’ meeting. Madge Brennan had made coffee and passed around a plate of molasses cookies. He really wished he could say they were better than these, but he couldn’t.
The girl passed the plate again, and Gil sampled another cookie. “These are pretty good,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t you hurry on inside before the twins polish off the milk?” Her solemn stare unnerved him.
“You should go get my mom.”
Before Gil could say he thought her mother was probably busy packing, the phone rang. He grabbed it up and was drawn into an unsatisfying conversation with his ranch foreman. The next thing Gil knew, the kid had disappeared. Just as well, considering he’d used some pretty colorful language. And not solely because the brakes went out on the ranch truck, leaving Rafe stranded in Abilene, either. Gil did his fair share of chewing Rafe’s tail over hiring that woman.
God, what next? Gil wondered as he signed off with a sigh. Mrs. Robbins wouldn’t get her money today. And maybe not tomorrow unless he made an unscheduled trip into town. Rafe said the service center had to send to Dallas for parts.
Hell, she should know the Lone Spur paid its bills. His dad had let things go, but not Gil. He’d go hunt her up and demand an address where he could mail her a check. Dammit, what was wrong with Doc Shelton’s phone, anyway? Gil hung up, then headed for the door. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d drop in his tracks.
He’d just reached the double doors when one slid open and Gil found himself face-to-face with the woman he needed to see. A light floral scent replaced the more pungent barn smells. Gil froze midstride. Gone were the accoutrements of a farrier. She looked dainty as a new filly in worn but clean jeans and a sleeveless flowered blouse.
“Oh!” Liz leapt back. “Sorry.” She placed a spontaneous hand on Gil’s arm. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here, except maybe my daughter.” She peered around him, or at least tried. His broad shoulders filled the doorway. “Melody was supposed to saddle her pony. I thought we’d take a last ride to sort of shake out his kinks before stuffing him in a trailer. Rafe let me ride Starfire,” she said, referring to a balky gelding. “Do you mind if I take him out one last time?”
When the man didn’t speak but stared, instead, at the supple fingers resting on his long-sleeved shirt, Liz lifted her hand and snapped her fingers in front of his glazed eyes. “Mr. Spencer. Are you all right? Has something else happened to your mare?”
