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Once again Gil suffered remorse. No matter how hard he tried to shelter his sons from the fallout of his divorce, their lives had changed. But the twins probably still had more continuity day to day than Melody Robbins did tagging after the damned rodeo.
Not given to snap decisions, Gil made one. “Stay,” he blurted. “Through the school year at least. I’ll hold off putting out feelers for a new farrier until mid-May.” Considering where they’d left things yesterday, Gil thought his offer generous.
“What?” Spots of red blazed on Liz’s cheeks. “You propose that I let Melody make friends, and then you have the nerve to suggest I put her through this again in May? What’s really behind your benevolence, Spencer? Are all the good farriers taken?”
“I haven’t checked. Look, I’m trying to do the decent thing.”
“A belated attack of conscience?” Liz laughed. “Touching, I’m sure. But all I want from you is my pay. And I’d appreciate cash.”
“Dammit, the offer’s got nothing to do with conscience. I sure as hell won’t beg you to stay.” He didn’t know why he’d weakened in the first place. Insufferable woman!
It didn’t help Gil’s mood to have three of his best wranglers ride in off the range just then and pounce on him, all three willing to plead Mrs. Robbins’s case. How they’d heard so quickly that he’d fired her Gil hadn’t a clue. Sometimes he thought ranch gossip traveled on the wind.
“Check out the shoes she made for Firefly, boss. This dang horse always shuffled before,” exclaimed Clayton Smith, one of Gil’s steadiest hands.
However, Gil noticed that today even Clay had on his Sunday shirt and that he kept darting shy glances toward the farrier. In her favor, she didn’t comment or do anything to solicit Clayton’s endorsement.
It was obvious to Gil that Yancy Holbrook had also slicked himself up for this occasion. Gil almost choked on Yancy’s cologne when the man brought his gelding over for Gil to inspect shoes he claimed Liz had fashioned to fit a slight deformity.
The third wrangler in the trio wasn’t any big surprise. Luke Terrill was a flirt, a ladies’ man, although not as blatant as Macy Rydell. Today, however, Terrill sported a fresh haircut, a newly trimmed mustache and laundry-creased jeans. Though he spoke last, Gil pegged him as the ringleader in today’s mission. Luke got right to the point.
“The lady forges a fine shoe, boss. But more important to us lonesome wranglers, she’s a dang sight easier on the eyes than any farrier we’ve ever had. Fire her, and some of us might just mosey on down the road, too.”
It was a matter of pride with Gil that he had the reputation of treating his hands fairly. Plus, he paid aboveaverage wages. Cowboys lined up to work here. The Lone Spur rarely had an opening because the men he hired usually stayed. He didn’t take kindly to being backed into a corner over an administrative decision.
Gil smoothed a palm down the nose of Luke’s strawberry roan. “I’d hate to lose you, Luke, but it’s your choice. My CPA’s got the ranch checkbook in town this week. You wanta pick up your gear and meet me at his office in a couple of hours, I’ll cut you a check. Same goes for anyone else who’s got a hankering to leave.”
From the way Luke turned white, then red and back to white again, it was clear he’d hoped to bluff his way past Gil.
The tension between the two men grew and spread to the others. Even the horses shifted restlessly. Liz knew the gauntlet had been thrown. She blanked her expression, wishing Luke hadn’t put her in the middle. Although, in all fairness, Spencer had given the men wiggle room to keep their jobs and still save face.
On the rodeo circuit, where men’s egos were bigger than their hat size and belt buckles combined, a challenge of this nature always ended in a brawl. Liz had learned to keep quiet. Too many times she’d seen situations in which a woman tried to mediate, only to have a fist fight erupt. She reached for the screen door. Let them bay at the moon. By nightfall, she’d be history here. Unexpectedly the door flew out of her hand and Melody hurtled out. She threw her arms around her mother’s waist and sobbed. “I saw you and Mr. Spencer talkin’. Didja tell him we don’t want to leave, Mom? Say please. You told me ‘please’ always works.”
Liz’s heart wilted. Dropping to one knee, she gathered Melody into her arms. “Honey…” she said brokenly. But no explanation made its way to her tongue. Talk about egos. Gil Spencer had offered a reprieve and she’d turned him down flat. True, it had only been for nine months, but that was nine months in which to check out other jobs in the area. Liz hadn’t really considered Melody’s feelings when she’d thrown Spencer’s offer back in his face to salve her own pride. Now she had to eat her words.
Straightening, Liz lifted Melody’s chin. “Dry your eyes,” she said in a voice that carried. “Mr. Spencer brought back the library book you left in the barn. And…he asked me to shoe some horses in the east pasture. Hurry, go saddle Babycakes. I doubt he’s one to pay his farriers to stand around.”
The wranglers were quick to jump on the out Liz provided. Crowding Gil, they asked why he hadn’t said in the first place that he’d rehired her. The three men lost no time making tracks out of Liz’s yard. If Gil hadn’t been so dumbfounded, he might have laughed.
Liz let Melody work through her excitement without comment. She felt Spencer’s eyes boring holes in her back and heard him dusting his Stetson rhythmically against his lean thigh. She didn’t turn to meet his gaze until Melody had dashed off to the barn to saddle her pony. Actually Liz waited another moment to see if the cadence of the tapping changed from irritation to resignation. It didn’t. So she fixed a smile on her lips before facing him.
Tap, tap, tap. “What happened to ‘not on your life’?”
Liz tossed her head defiantly. “I changed my mind.”
“I don’t recall asking you to shoe any horses in the east pasture.” Tap, tap, tap.
She shrugged. “They’re from your remuda. Rafe assigned me the job on Thursday.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Was a slower rhythm better? Unsure, Liz stood her ground. Lo and behold, the tapping stopped, and she felt the muscles in her jaw relax.
“Did Rafe also tell you we have a ridge ru
Liz tensed again, knowing a ridge ru
“Wild stallions are totally unpredictable. Dangerous. Plus, we’ve got a marauding cougar staking his claim in those foothills. He kills just to be killing.”
“Are you trying to scare me, Mr. Spencer? It’s dangerous going to bed at night, what with all the snakes and bats that find their way into the cottage.”
Gil tugged at his hat brim to hide his discomfort. So, Mrs. Robbins had a dry wit? A trait Gil liked in the men he hired. Why, then, did the fact that she possessed a sense of humor bug him? “Well,” he said gruffly, “since I’m here, I may as well go ahead and flush those critters out of your bedroom.”
Liz stepped back to accommodate his large frame, which suddenly dwarfed her small porch. “What critters?”
“The bats. I assume you shut the door and slept elsewhere last night.”
“You assumed wrong. I shooed them out the window with a broom. You think I wanted bat poop on my new rug and newly papered walls? Even at that, I was up washing and scrubbing till nearly four. Who knows what germs bats carry? I’m surprised you’d allow the boys to handle them. They might have been bitten.”
Picturing her going after bats with a broom prompted Gil’s lazy smile. Irritation at her insinuation that he condoned the twins’ nocturnal activities made it slip. “To quote Dustin, boys are too smart to get bitten. I won’t mention his thoughts on girls, but it’s another reason the boys are spending a Saturday morning in their room. I don’t allow them to do things that are harmful or disrespectful.”