Lois Greiman - [Hope Springs 02] (14 page)

Emily shrugged and settled her belly beneath the table. “I just try stuff.”

Linette tasted another bite, closed her eyes for a second, and smiled around her fork. “What’s in it?”

“Bodacious milk, three kinds of cheese, a bushel basket of fresh herbs, and Magenta eggs.”

“Don’t ask,” Sophie warned. Ty glanced at her for a second, then skimmed his gaze away, stomach already unsettled.

Linette glanced at her, but asked anyway. “Magenta eggs?”

“I have a theory,” Emily said.

“God save us,” Sophie said, but Emily continued unperturbed.

“Magenta is our little purple chicken.”

“You have a purple chicken?”

“No,” Sophie said. “We don’t.”

“Well, she looks purple in the proper light,” Emily said. “Anyway, she’s the littlest chicken we have. We lock them all up in the coop in the evening, you know, to keep them safe from . . .” She waved her fork, indicating the world at large. “. . . everything. But one night I couldn’t find her.”

“Here we go,” Sophie said, taking her first bite of a biscuit.

“The next morning she was limping and missing half her tail feathers.”

Linette waited in expectant silence.

“There were coyote tracks around the coop.”

“Or they could have been Jack’s,” Sophie said, mentioning the ranch dog.

“They were indubitably coyotes,” Emily declared with finality and started in on the hotdish. Linette stared at her, waiting. But when Emily ate, not much else happened. Linette shifted her gaze to the others around the table, encouraging someone else to fill in the blanks.

“Emily believes that perhaps Magenta fought off the coyotes,” Casie explained.

“Ahh,” Linette said.

“They haven’t been back since.” Emily said the words around enough food to feed a family of pachyderms.

“Of course, Jack has been outside every night since then,” Sophie said. “Can I get some vegetables?”

Casie passed the glazed carrots.

“This is the best egg thing I’ve ever tasted,” Dickenson said, then glanced at Ty. “You tell Mom and you’re responsible for my chores when she tans my hide.”

“I’m still not sure what your theory is,” Linette said.

Emily shrugged as she added a pair of baby dills to her plate. Maggie Janis, their closest neighbor to the west, was an award-winning pickle maker. It was no secret that Em planned to learn everything she could from the old woman, crotchety though she was. “Magenta is unusually courageous, so it naturally follows that her eggs will imbue us with that same bravado.”

Linette remained silent for a moment, perhaps trying to figure out if Emily was serious. Ty could have told her unequivocally that she was.

“Eat up,” Dickenson said, nudging Linette’s elbow with her own. “We’re going to lope tomorrow.”

“I—” Linny began, eyes wide with fear. “I’m going to need a bigger plate.”

Dickenson chuckled.

“He’s just kidding,” Casie said. “You don’t ever have to lope if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I can’t force you,” Dickenson said. “But it’s best to get it over with before you scare yourself out of it.”

“I’ve already scared myself out of it.”

“You can take as long as you want,” Casie added.

“I wish that was true,” Linette said. “But I don’t have a lot of time left.” Her voice was quiet, her gaze distant.

They all glanced at her.

She raised her brows at them, suddenly aware of their attention. “I mean, I’m not getting any younger.”

A knock at the front door broke the ensuing silence.

“Who could that be?” Casie asked. Her tone was steady, but her eyes looked nervous. Why? Ty wondered. Had something else happened to make her skittish?

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that strangers show up unexpectedly at dinnertime,” Linette said.

“Emily would feed Jack the Ripper,” Sophie said.

“She’s probably hoping he could teach us some table manners,” Colt said. “Hey, Ty, pass me the pickles, will ya?”

Ty did so without thinking, watching as Casie crossed the cracked linoleum.

“You didn’t can those yourself, did you?” Linette asked.

“They’re Maggie’s,” Emily said. “She’s like a kitchen witch or something.”

“Or just a witch,” Sophie amended.

“Give Em half an acre, she’ll feed you for the winter,” Dickenson said.

Ty heard the door open and strained to hear the voices there, but the banter around the table was too loud.

“Give me an alpaca and I’ll clothe Baby Quinton forever,” Em said.

“You’ll have to talk to Mom about
that,
” Colt said.

“Alpaca?” Linette questioned.

“Warmest fiber in the universe.”

“Where would you possibly find time to care for another animal?”

“Excellent question,” Colt said, spreading rhubapple jam on a biscuit.

“I figure I’ll just be sitting around for a couple months after Baby Ravel’s born anyway, so I might as well have a hobby.”

“Are you serious?” Linette asked.

“Well, you know, I won’t be able to practice canning for a while.”

“Or walk,” Linette said. “After my daughter was born I could barely sit up.”

“What’s it like having a daughter?”

Voices murmured from the entryway.

“It’s . . . nice,” Linette said, but her tone was distracted.

“Nice like . . .” Emily shrugged. “Pickled beets? Or nice like your best friend in the world?” Her voice was a little tight, her eyes sharp. “I mean, there’s nothing like family, right?”

“I’m starting to think that it’s the most important thing in the world.”

Emily nodded. “So when will we meet her?”

“Who?”

“Elizabeth. Your daughter. Hey, she should come pick you up. I mean, you don’t have a car here. She could rent one in town, then stay until you have to leave. I bet Case would give her a couple nights free so you two could spend some time together. I’d take care of your granddaughter and . . .” She finished off her pickle, thinking hard. “What’s her name again?”

Linette blinked. Her face seemed a little pale. Sometimes Ty wondered if she had been sick. If she had come here to recover. “Lila,” she said.

“After her grandmother?” Dickenson asked.

Linette shook her head, then shifted her attention to Emily. “These biscuits are amazing, Em. You
must
have had a recipe for these. An old family secret maybe?”

“No, but my mother . . .” Emily began, then paused and glanced at Colt. He caught her gaze with a steady eye. “Probably didn’t even know what homemade meant.” She shrugged. Em was never real comfortable with the truth. “Like I said, I just experiment.”

Dickenson smiled a little. There was something in his expression. Pride maybe. It made Ty’s stomach feel odd. Dickenson gave Emily a nod before returning his attention to his meal. “We’re like happy little guinea pigs,” he said.

“Well, I’m going to be a potbellied pig if I stay here much longer,” Linette said.

“I’ve gained ten pounds since last spring,” Sophie said with a scowl.

Ty glanced at her. Maybe she
had
put on some weight since they’d first met, but it only made her more . . . He couldn’t think of the word.

“If I pack on any more, my mother will disown me,” she added.

Linette stared at her. “Sometimes mothers make mistakes.”

Sophie shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be a bad thing if she—”

“Hey,” Casie said, returning to the kitchen. Another woman stepped up beside her. She was slightly shorter than Casie and somewhat heavier, but every ounce of that excess seemed to be packed into her chest, which was barely confined by a narrow-strapped, candy-apple-red tank top. Her hair was long, black, and shiny. It curled in a wavy mass around her shoulders. Her lips were plump, glossy, and just as red as her shirt. “This is Samantha Shepherd.” She paused and smiled, but a tic jumped in her jaw. “Colt’s farrier friend.”

“W
hat a grand old mare,” Sam said, and straightening, stroked the gray’s speckled neck.

Casie refrained from gritting her teeth. She had no reason to dislike Samantha Shepherd. Especially since the woman had just spent the past hour and a half shaping therapeutic shoes over an acetylene torch. Sweat beaded her brow. It glimmered on her chest and arms. All of the above were extremely well defined. “Good thing you caught this early on, Ty, or her chances of a full recovery wouldn’t have been nearly so good.”

Ty shuffled his feet. “Casie’s the one that took her in,” he said.

The blacksmith turned toward Casie, who shrugged. This woman wasn’t the enemy, she reminded herself. “I just supply the feed,” she said. “Ty looks after her.”

“Well . . .” Sam glanced at Colt. She had a crooked smile that could light up a cave. “Colt always could find himself people with soft hearts.” She laughed, seeming to remember something the others weren’t privy to. Casie felt her stomach tighten. “The world needs more of that kind. God knows them PMU horses could use some help. Right?” Sam said, and pulling her gaze from Colt’s with an obvious effort, turned her smile on Casie.

Casie tried to smile back. “What horses?” she asked. Thunder rumbled off to the west. A storm was rolling in.

“The ones on that urine line.”

“What?” Casie asked. Sophie scowled.

“You know,” Sam said, and shifting Angel’s left foreleg carefully onto the heavily bedded floor, straightened her back. The movement shifted her tank top a little higher, almost allowing it to hide half her boobs. “The mares that are kept for the urine that’s used for hormonal imbalances and stuff. There’s a farm around here somewhere, I guess. I mean, they didn’t report any abuse on that particular property, but I’ve got a feeling the conditions might not be real cozy. They showed footage from other farms . . .” She shook her head and patted Angel’s shoulder. “Well, I think we’re done here.”

“Thanks,” Colt said. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Yes,” Casie added, trying to sound grateful. “Thanks so much for all your time. What do I owe you?”

“You?” She laughed. “Nothing at all. But Colt here owes me a roping lesson and a pair of red—”

“So you think she’ll come along okay?” Colt asked.

Sam raised her brows at the change in course, but followed along easily enough. “Yeah,” she said, and still smiling, turned toward Ty. “You keep taking care of her like you have been and she should come around just fine. I’ll plan on stopping back in a few days to take a look at her. But you gotta promise to call me right away if she takes a turn for the worse, or if you have any questions. Call me . . . night or day.”

Ty nodded.

Sam smiled. “You got my number?” she asked.

Ty shook his head and looked sheepish. Laughing a little, Sam slapped a hand to the pocket on the seat of her jeans. The fabric across her boobs stretched as tight as an overtaxed water balloon. She wiggled a little as she searched her pocket, but her hand came up empty.

“Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m damn good with horses, but I’m not so hot with people. Looks like I forgot my business cards again.” She made a face. “But Colt here’s got my number if you need it.” She smiled again, eye contact strong. “You’ll call, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ty said, and she nodded before bending to pick up the half dozen metal tools that were strewn around Angel’s stall.

Colt hunched down to assist, and when she tried to take them from him, he declined. “Least I can do is carry your stuff,” he said.

“You’re right,” she said and laughed. “That is the least you can do.”

Casie forced herself to look away as Colt walked Sam to her truck. It was a brand-new Chevy with all the fixings, as red as her tank top, as shiny as her hair. She cocked a hip against her open tailgate and faced the barn. When she laughed her boobs jiggled like just-set Jell-O.

“I’m going to take Angel out to graze,” Sophie said.

“What?” Ty asked, pulling his attention from the pair by the truck.

Sophie scowled. Her cheeks looked a little pink, her eyes narrowed. “Angel . . .” she said. “Remember her?”

“Yeah.” He scowled back, looking confused. “ ’Course I remember her,” he said and stroked the mare’s neck.

“She needs grass.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked and glanced toward the corner of the stall where they had piled her hay, two flakes of grass and one of alfalfa. The bedding was deep enough to swim in. “She’s got plenty to eat.”

Sophie pursed her lips. “It doesn’t have the same nutritional value that fresh forage does. It’s not as easy on her digestive system, and she doesn’t like it as well. She wants to graze.”

But he shook his head. “Sam said she needs stall rest for at least another week.”

“Well, Sam is a . . .” She said the woman’s name with a good deal of force and no small degree of distain. Casie raised her brows a little at the tone, making Sophie lower her voice and her shoulders. “. . . person who doesn’t know everything.”

Ty’s scowl deepened a little. Casie watched the exchange with some confusion. But her thoughts about Samantha Shepherd were equally confusing. Who the hell was she to Colt? And what did she hope to be? And why would Casie possibly care? True, maybe for a while she’d been intrigued by Colt Dickenson. Maybe she had even thought he had changed. But her conversation with Hedley had proved otherwise.

“Such as how to wear a shirt, apparently.” Sophie’s voice had dropped an octave, effectively dragging Casie’s attention back to her.

“Well . . .” Ty shifted his attention between the two women standing closest to him. His ears were a little red. “The weather
has
been mighty hot and . . .” He shrugged. The movement was stiff. It looked as if it was taking a good deal of discipline to keep his gaze off the object of their discussion. “Blacksmithing is hard work.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Casie swung into the conversation before it unraveled completely. “I think Ty’s right, Soph,” she said. “Doctor Sarah thought Angel should be kept as quiet as possible, too.”

Sophie’s scowl deepened at the sound of the veterinarian’s name, making Casie wonder if Sophie disliked
her,
too. Holy Hannah, if she was going to hate every woman in the equine industry, she was going to be mighty lonely. Ninety percent of the equestrian world was female.

“Yes,” Sophie agreed, her tone suspiciously saccharine. “But that advice came before Sam’s brilliant scheme. Had the good doctor known our illustrious farrier was going to come up with something as earthshaking as egg bar shoes, she would probably be allowing us to run Angel in the Derby by now.”

“I think them shoes looked pretty good,” Ty said.

If Sophie’s scowl got any deeper, it would swallow her whole face. “You sure that’s what you thought looked good?” she asked.

From her left, the farrier laughed again. Casie didn’t bother to glance at the pair framed in the doorway of the barn. She had seen enough jiggling boobs to last her a lifetime.

Ty shuffled his booted feet and also kept his gaze front and center. “I don’t know much about horses’ hooves,” he said. “But them new shoes might just help Angel move around a little easier.”

“Yes. She’s practically a genius.”

He shrugged again, red spreading from his ears to his neck. “Not a genius, maybe,” he said. “But I wouldn’t a never thought of them things.”

“Well, you—” Sophie began, but stopped herself before Casie could jump back into the mix. “All right,” she said. “I’ll leave Angel where she is if that’s what you want.”

He nodded. They stared at each other. Casie tried to think of something to fill the awkward silence, but there was no one more awkward than she was, and her mind was half occupied by the couple near the truck anyway.

Sophie was the one to turn away first, but Ty stopped her.

“Soph.” His voice was low, a testament to the fact that he was almost a man. His cheeks had turned pink . . . proof, perhaps, that he was still a boy. “Thanks.”

The girl’s back was very straight, her lips pursed, but her eyes seemed oddly haunted. Still, she forced a casual shrug. “She’s your horse. You can do whatever you want with her.”

He remained silent for an uncomfortable moment, then spoke again. “I meant . . . thanks for trying to get Darren to come back out.”

For a second her face softened, but she caught herself. “Well . . . like Mother would say, a poor attempt is almost as good as nothing at all.”

He lowered his brows, working out the logistics for a moment. “He come out in the middle of the night the first time. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t pulled them shoes first thing out of the gate?”

Sophie glanced at the old mare. For an almost infinitesimal instant, tenderness shone in her eyes. “She would have probably been fine without any intervention,” she said, but Ty shook his head.

“You done good,” he said. “I know she ain’t much compared to . . .” He shrugged. “You’re probably used to riding them Grand Prix jumpers or something, but it was a nice thing you done for her.”

For a moment her expression was guileless. Her lips parted, her cheeks pinked. She backed away. “Well . . .” She said the word almost as if she was flustered, almost as if she was at a loss. “I’m just going to . . .” She waved vaguely somewhere between the corncrib and the creek. “I’m going to help Emily with the dishes,” she said, and turning abruptly, practically stumbled over Jack before disappearing outside.

“She’s
what?
” Colt asked, appearing in the doorway from the opposite direction.

Casie took a deep breath and refrained from looking him straight in the eye. “I believe she said she was going to help Emily.”

“That’s what I thought.” Colt scowled, staring off toward the house. “Any other signs of the apocalypse?”

She could play this game, Casie thought, and forced a smile, happy to avoid the conversation she knew they should have. “I did see seven horsemen by the front porch this morning. And last night—”

“She ain’t all bad,” Tyler said.

They turned toward him in stunned unison. Was Tyler Roberts sticking up for Sophie Jaegar? Was this yet another sign of impending doom? Casie wondered. But he just shrugged.

“I’d best be gettin’ back.” They were still staring at him. “Promised Monty I’d oil up his ropin’ saddle yet tonight.”

They watched in tandem as he strode purposefully down the driveway toward the Red Horse Ranch.

Colt’s eyebrows were lodged up against the weathered band of his Stetson. “What the hell was that about?”

Casie shook her head, trying to sort it out.

“I mean . . .” He exhaled. “Do you think it’s true?”

“What?”

She could feel him turn toward her.

“Do you suppose Sophie
isn’t
Satan?”

She glanced toward him. His expression was a ridiculous blend of awe and suspicion, but when she was just about to chuckle, she noticed the smudge of lipstick across the corner of his mouth.

She felt her fingers curl toward her palms. “Well . . .” she said. “I’d better get inside.”

“I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” Colt said.

She glanced at him on her way out of the stall. He shrugged. “If Sophie hasn’t hexed Emily yet, it’s probably just because they’re in the middle of an epic battle of good and evil.”

“Well . . .” She pursed her lips, reminding herself of Sophie’s prissiest expression. “We can’t all be saints.”

“What’s that?”

She heard him latch the stall gate behind them. But she didn’t turn.

“We don’t all have six hours to burn on a Tuesday night.”

He was silent for a second before she felt him touch her arm.

“Hey.”

She kept walking.

He tightened his fingers around her elbow and tugged her toward him. “Sam’s just a friend,” he said.

“Really? Then cowboys must have changed a bit,” she said and carefully extracted herself from his grip.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The lip gloss,” she said. “I don’t think it’s your shade.”

He stared at her for a second, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glanced at the streak of red across his knuckles, and shook his head. But she was already turning away.

“Is that what you’re mad about?” he asked, striding after her.

“I’m not mad.” The words sounded a little like a growl. But the good news was that if she stormed along fast enough,
her
boobs could jiggle a little, too.

“Really?” Colt asked. “Then this is the jovial you?”

She swung toward him without intending to. “So what kind of favors do you trade with her exactly, Dickey?”

He stared at her, brows raised cautiously again. “What?”

She gritted her teeth. It wasn’t that she cared what he did in his spare time. It wasn’t as if she cared about him at all, but he didn’t have to lie to her.

He was absolutely silent for a long moment, but finally he spoke. “It’s not like you think, Case.”

“Really! Because I think you slept with her.” She practically spat the words at him.

He moved his lips, raised one hand, and failed to speak.

She gritted a smile. It felt kind of flinty on her face. “Turns out it kinda is what I thought, isn’t it?” she asked, and turned away, but he was in front of her before she reached the doorway.

“Good God, Case, I’m a grown man. What did you think I would do? Wait in chaste hopefulness until you found it in your heart to return to the Lazy and my poor abandoned self?”

She stared at him a second, then snorted out loud and stormed around him.

“Okay!” He grabbed her arm as she torpedoed past. “Listen, I’m sorry. Sam’s a nice gal. She’ll give you the shirt off her back if—”