Lois Greiman - [Hope Springs 02] (13 page)

“Just let me say this, okay?” Her lips were pursed into a puckered mound, her dark eyes wide with sincerity. “There’s no way I can ever repay you. I know that. I’m not delusional. I just want to . . .” She swallowed. Her mouth twitched. “I just want to earn my keep, you know. I just want to feel like I’m doing
something
to help pay for me and Baby Roxbury.”

“Something?” Casie felt her heart crack. “Are you kidding me? Em, you do everything.” The girl shook her head. One fat tear bulged at the corner of her eye, threatening to fall and break her world apart. “I mean it. All the cooking, all the gardening, all the cleaning.”

“I don’t know anything about horses.”

“Horses!” Casie swung her gaze toward the pasture where her little herds grazed, then laughed out loud. “Holy Hannah, Em. We have horses covered. People
pay
to work with the horses. People travel . . .” She waved vaguely toward Linette. “Hundreds of miles to work with horses. But I’ll tell you this for sure, no one’s going to pay to make our meals. No one’s going to pay to clean the basement and bottle-feed the lambs, and . . . and . . .” She glanced toward the little mother-to-be again, hoping against hope that that one fat tear wouldn’t fall. “And take care of every godforsaken emergency that pops up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not enough,” Emily said. Her eyes were dead steady, her expression absolutely impassive.

“What?”

“You’re giving my baby a home, Case,” she said. Her lips were pursed again, her eyes round and solemn. “You’re giving us a place to live. Keeping us off the streets.” She swallowed. Her neck was dark and smooth. “I know I can’t repay that. Not ever. Not in a thousand years.” She cleared her throat. “But I want to try. I
have
to try. I mean . . . I know it won’t be much, but maybe I can make a little profit on homemade soaps. Maybe I can repay you in some small way. Maybe I can—” she began, and that’s when that fat, traitorous tear fell.

“Oh, Em,” Casie said, and because she couldn’t resist, she pulled the girl into her arms. “There’s nothing to repay. I’m glad to have you here. I’m
thrilled
to have you here. And if it’s that important to you, you can keep the goats.”

“No.” Her shoulders bumped up on a sharp sniffle. “No. It’s all right. I’m just being silly. Endocrine overload.” She swiped her knuckles across her cheek. “I saw Bodacious in the field and I knew Bess couldn’t keep her and she had those babies and I thought about what it would be like to have kids and no home and I . . .” She paused, struggling for breath. “But you’re right. They’re going to be a lot of trouble, so—”

“No. I was wrong.” Casie shook her head with vigor, wishing she could call it all back, make it all right. “What’s one more goat?”

“Three more—”

Casie laughed, feeling a dozen odd emotions swirl inside her all at once. “Three more goats,” she said and pushed Emily to arm’s length. “We’ll work it out.”

“You sure?” Emily asked and raised her watery gaze to Casie’s before swiping her hand across her cheek again.

“I’m sure,” Casie said. “You okay?”

Em nodded.

Casie smiled.

Emily cleared her throat. “I thought I’d put them in the corncrib.”

“The corncrib?” Casie said, dubious.

Emily blinked. “It’s empty and secure. They won’t be able to get through the wire.”

“But—”

Emily’s lips twitched.

“Yeah,” Casie said. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” Emily’s voice was very small.

“Positive,” Casie said.

“Okay. Thanks,” Emily said and almost managed a smile before wandering off toward her new wards.

“Maybe you could help her, Soph,” Casie said.

Sophie gazed at her a second, then shook her head with almost sad restraint and meandered down the steps after the older girl.

The five of them made a strange picture trailing across the yard toward the empty corncrib.

“Wow,” Linette said, coming up beside Casie, coffee cup in hand. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”

Casie sighed. The thing about living with teenagers was that you could never be sure whether you had won or lost. “Yeah. They’re cute, aren’t they?”

“Oh yes, they’re adorable,” Linette said. “They’re all cuter than hell. But that wasn’t exactly what I was referring to.”

Casie glanced down at her.

“I just haven’t seen anyone be played quite so beautifully before, and I’ve got to tell you . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve been around.”

“I wasn’t . . .” Casie scowled, opened her mouth, glanced at the girls herding the goats toward their new enclosure. Sophie said something. Emily smiled. “Holy Hannah,” she said. “I’ve been played.”

“Like a fine violin,” Linette said.

“Again,” she said, and despite everything . . . the impending lawsuits, the turbulent teenagers, the hundred thousand things that needed doing, they laughed out loud.

“T
hen don’t bother coming at all,” Sophie said and snapped her phone shut.

Ty tightened his fingers in Angel’s mane, breath held as he swept his gaze toward Casie. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. Fewer than twenty hours had passed since they’d realized Angel’s new troubles. It felt like two hundred. School, which used to be a respite from the weighty tension of home life, had dragged on forever. Even Charles Dickens couldn’t hold his attention.

Finally home, it had been a relief to see Angel standing square and quiet on all four feet, but she was heavily medicated and needed therapeutic shoeing as soon as possible. Thus the recent phone call.

“Sophie . . .” Casie’s tone was a warning, but judging by the girl’s petulant glare, she was in no mood for advice of any sort.

Sophie’s gaze caught on his for a second. He felt the heat of it like an acetylene torch long before she turned her attention to Casie.

“What?” Her tone was abrasive. It would be crazy of him to like her. Probably crazy to like any girl . . . especially a bossy girl like her. He might be young, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. “We can’t wait around forever just because Darren is too lazy to get his butt off his recliner.”

“He probably had appointments with other clients,” Casie said.

“And what about Angel? Isn’t she important enough for him to waste his time on? Maybe we should just put her down, then, if we can’t get someone to take care of her feet.”

Ty was familiar with Sophie’s dramatics, was fully aware that Casie had no intention of giving up on the mare that had captured their hearts, and yet he felt his stomach knot up tight, felt his hands tremble.

Casie glanced at him before shifting her attention back to Sophie. “Let’s avoid the histrionics,” she said.

“Histrionics?” Sophie said. “What do you think is going to happen if we don’t get her feet taken care of?”

“We
are
taking care of them. We’ve got the pain under control. And I’m sure Darren will be here in a couple hours.”

“A couple of hours! She could be dead in a couple of hours. She could be—”

“Another relaxing day at the Lazy?” Colt asked and silently stepped into the doorway of Angel’s box stall.

Ty felt something strike his gut, a feeling oddly balanced between relief and turmoil, jealousy and gratitude.

The women glanced at the new arrival. Had they turned their collective attention on Ty like that, he would have been tempted to duck and cover, but Colt Dickenson seemed comfortable in the eye of the storm.

“How’s she doing?” he asked. Blithely ignoring Sophie’s dark glare and Casie’s uncertain body language, he lifted the door latch and stepped into the stall.

Ty shrugged, Sophie fumed. Only Casie spoke.

“About the same as this morning, I think. She doesn’t seem terribly uncomfortable, but she’s probably higher than a kite, so it’s hard to tell.” There was something in her tone that hadn’t been there earlier . . . worry, maybe. Why? Was she increasingly concerned, or was there something about Dickenson’s presence that allowed her to let down her guard? His stomach knotted up tighter. “I’m not sure what else to do,” she said.

“The farrier isn’t in a rush to come back, huh?” Dickenson asked and grinned a little as he glanced at Sophie.

“It’s not my fault,” she said tersely. That was one thing about Sophie. She was as caustic as battery acid, but at least she wasn’t bowled over by Dickenson’s rough charm. Then again, if the rodeo cowboy couldn’t win her over, what chance did lesser men have?

Dickenson, however, seemed completely untroubled by his inability to enchant and grinned crookedly as he crouched to place his palm flat against Angel’s left forefoot. In a moment he switched to her lateral hoof.

They all remained silent. It was impossible to see his expression beneath his Stetson, but finally he stood.

“What do you think?” Casie asked. Oh, he didn’t
like
Colt. There was no getting around that, but the man was Monty’s son, and Monty wouldn’t raise no fool.

“I’m no expert,” he said.

Casie lowered her brows. “They’re still hot, aren’t they?”

He sighed. “Feels that way to me.”

Casie nodded. She was trying to look casual, relaxed, but Ty knew her better than that, knew she smiled when she was worried, knew she was the gentlest soul on earth but would fight like a mad dog to save those she cared about. The image of her face after her return from his parents’ farm still haunted his dreams. His eyes stung, but he blinked. Being a baby wouldn’t do anybody no good. “Maybe Doc Miller can help us out.”

“Doc Miller?” Sophie’s tone was skeptical at best, but he didn’t glance at her. Seeing her gleaming hair and too-perfect features wouldn’t help anything, either. “The pig doctor?”

“He works on other livestock, too,” Casie reminded her.

“Yes,” Sophie said, “if the other livestock has a rumen. Horses, if you recall . . . do not.”

Casie lifted one brow at her. And Sophie, to Ty’s surprise, merely glanced away diffidently. When she spoke again her tone had lost its biting edge. “I don’t think Doc Miller will be much help.”

It was a strange interaction. Sophie backing down, Sophie not being a bitch.

“Have you got a better suggestion?” Casie asked.

Sophie scowled, then after a second’s hesitation pulled the cell phone out of her pocket again. It was then that Ty could no longer remain silent.

“I ain’t taking no more money from your dad,” he said. All eyes turned to him. He was as surprised as any of them that he had spoken.

“Listen,” Sophie said, brows pulled low over storm-cloud eyes. “Now’s not the time,” she began, but he shook his head, interrupting her before she could dig her heels in further. Memories of the hipster in the Camaro streamed through his head like poison arrows.

“I ain’t,” he said.

“Fine. Let’s just let her die then,” Sophie said. Her left fist was clenched by her thigh. Her lips were pursed in her signature expression of anger, and though her eyes were narrowed dangerously, they seemed unusually bright. “It doesn’t matter to me if—”

“Soph,” Casie warned, but Ty barely heard her. He was drowning in the liquid brilliance of Sophie’s eyes. It wasn’t until that second that he recognized the worry in them. The worry masked as anger.

“What?” Sophie snapped, and when she turned toward Casie, the moment had passed. “Dad paid good money to fix her and now . . .”

“Sam’ll know what to do.”

Colt’s voice was quiet, but somehow it pierced the echoing emotions, the turbulent angst. Ty had no idea how he managed that.

“What?” Sophie asked.

“Who’s Sam?” Casie said, but Colt was already pulling a phone from his own pocket.

“Hang on a second,” he said and pressed a single button. In a moment he was speaking into the tiny receiver. “Yeah, hey, it’s me.” There was the slightest pause. He laughed, rocking back a little on his worn heels. “Not recently. Say, I’ve got a problem. Was wondering if you could help me out.” Another pause. “Close. We got a mare might have a case of laminitis.” He lifted his eyes toward Casie, caught her gaze, and nodded. “Yeah. Recovering from colic surgery.”

Al bleated as he wandered in, followed by two frolicking kids. Colt raised a questioning hand, but in a moment he was distracted again.

“Cold-water baths, Bute, Banamine, deep bedding. The usual stuff.” He glanced outside, listening for a second, then, “She’s barefoot now.” He nodded again, rhythmically. “Okay. Yeah. “Where do I find that?” He grinned at the answer. “Well, that’s great, but it’s not in the back of
my
truck.”

He shifted his gaze to Casie again. “I don’t want to put you out.” A murmur. “You sure? Okay. We’ll keep her comfortable till then. Thanks, Sam. I owe you one.” He narrowed his eyes and laughed again. “All right. I owe you three,” he said and hung up.

Al bleated again, breaking the ensuing silence.

“How long do we have to wait?” Sophie asked.

Colt shrugged and glanced at Casie. “It takes a while to get here from Pine Ridge.”

“He’s coming all that way?” Casie asked. “That’s going to cost a fortune in gas alone.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Colt said.

“I
am
worried about it,” Casie said.

Dickenson shrugged. “I’ve helped Sam out a time or two.”

“It sounded like you’re already in his debt.”

Colt cleared his throat. “Well, we trade favors.”

“I don’t want you to owe him more than you can afford to—” Casie began, but just then Bodacious galloped into the barn, head high, frayed rope dragging behind her. Emily appeared a half second later, out of breath as she gave chase. The three of them stared over the stall door at her. She stared back, then dropped her hands to her knees, breathing deeply.

“Holy shorts. Maybe someone who’s not pregnant could chase after that thing,” she panted.

A half hour later they were
all
out of breath, but the hole in the corncrib had been repaired and Bodacious was once again confined. An hour after that, chores had been completed, Dickenson had given Linette another riding lesson, and Ty had once again soaked Angel’s feet. The worry in his gut had receded marginally.

“Milk or water?” Casie asked. She was pouring beverages from ceramic pitchers that boasted raised pictures of roosters. They matched the glasses to perfection and beat the crap out of the chewed-up plastic ones they used to use. Emily was exceptional at consignment shopping. Even better at taking a run-down house and making it into the kind of home that insisted you kick off your shoes and settle in with a bowl of warm apple crisp and a sigh. But that was only one of the reasons Ty liked her so well. She was also loyal and smart and funny . . . a friend when he’d desperately needed a friend.

But Sophie . . . He shifted his gaze to where she sat beside Dickenson. Guilt crept up.
Emily
was the one who needed attention. Emily, who was always there for him. Emily, who had never had nobody. Sophie turned her glowing gaze toward him and he jerked his nervously away.

“Is that goat milk?” Linette asked.

“You bet your extraordinary brainpower,” Emily said. Bending, she retrieved a hotdish from the oven. It steamed into the relatively cool kitchen air. “It’ll make you brilliant, stalwart, and more bodacious.”

Linette raised her glass toward the milk pitcher. “I’d give my spleen to be more bodacious.”

“Amen,” Emily said and began dishing up the casserole. The kitchen smelled of melted cheese and contentment.

“You know that it hasn’t been pasteurized, right?” Sophie asked.

Casie was already handing over the full glass. The milk looked thick enough to walk on. Linette stared at it a second, then shrugged. “Here’s to living dangerously,” she said and raised her beverage in an impromptu toast.

Dickenson clicked it with his own ceramic rooster.

“Speaking of dangerous,” Emily said, sucking gooey cheddar off her thumb. She seemed in good spirits today, though her latest environmentally conscious T-shirt looked stretched to its limits over her belly. “How was your riding lesson?”

“Well . . .” Linette tasted the milk, made a “not bad” face, and continued on. “I rode over four cavaletti at a trot and still made it onto the porch under my own steam.”

Casie settled into a chair and raised her own glass to the older woman’s. “Going over ground poles already. Congratulations.” Her voice was soft, exuding comfort.

“I’ve never been more proud,” Linette said.

“Or more lucky,” Emily said.

Linette glanced at her.

“Horses,” the little mother-to-be explained, shoving her spatula under another helping of the still-steaming entrée. “You might as well strap a jar of nitro to your a . . .” She paused. They all stared. Emily had been outspoken since the day she’d first come to Ty’s rescue in a temporary foster home in Buffalo Gap. Her looming pregnancy wasn’t lessening that characteristic. “Ankle,” she finished and delivered another plate to the table.

“Nice save,” Dickenson murmured and took the plate.

Linette laughed. Sophie stared down at the pan. “What’s the mystery meal of the day?” she asked, but she didn’t waste any time lifting her plate for a helping.

Emily canted her head. “I call it Hotdish Bodacious.”

Sophie scowled at it as she settled a piece onto her plate. “It looks like . . .”

Casie cleared her throat.

“. . . good,” Sophie finished, and Dickenson grinned.

“It tastes like . . . good, too,” he said, having just tasted his first bite. Mrs. Dickenson was a pretty good cook. Which made the number of meals her son ate at the Lazy seem kinda suspicious. But then, Ty supposed the same could be said of him.

“Wow,” Linette said, sampling a bite. “That’s better than good. Where’d you get the recipe, Em?”