Snow Melts in Spring (10 page)

“She’s setting up office here, scrubbing things good and clean.”

Gil pictured the red-haired doctor doing just that. “Is she okay?”

His father wheezed into the phone, and Gil wondered how he was handling all the commotion.

“She’s a tough lady. Tougher than most.”

Gil reached inside his pants pocket and ran his fingers along the smooth metal watch hidden there. He blew out a long breath and recalled his coach’s words about reconciliation. His sense of duty dictated his next words. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Jake and I finished putting up shelves in the tack room for Mattie’s new supplies. We have everything under control.”

The hairs on Gil’s neck stirred. “You don’t have any business toting around a hammer. Next, you’ll tell me you’re ready to ride horses or fix fence.”

Dr. Evans should know better than to allow his father to push himself so hard. That she hadn’t objected disturbed Gil. What else might the pretty doc persuade the old man to do? “Sounds like you need me there. I’d better have my secretary arrange a flight home,” he said before he had a chance to think it through.

“Don’t get yourself all tied in a knot. No reason for you to hurry home.”

It didn’t surprise him that his dad didn’t want him there. The prospect of returning to Charris County didn’t make Gil tingle all over, either. He’d have to put the purchase of his land on hold.

Another delay.

He pulled the silver timepiece from his pocket and watched the second hand click past each successive number. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll stay a couple of months this time — if you can stand to have me around that long?”

His dad grunted. Gil took that as a
yes
.

SEVENTEEN

TWO DAYS LATER, GIL ARRIVED AT HIS FATHER’S RANCH IN A NEW Dodge Ram Laramie he’d bought in Kansas City. He’d left his Escalade in California until he returned, and he had no intention of borrowing Jake’s truck again.

The sun dipped below the horizon, the murky clouds tinged with orange and purple. He parked his truck and went straight for the barn. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted Dusty in a large stall, his head hanging low to the ground. It looked like the horse had lost a ton of weight in the two weeks he’d been gone. A knot of dread formed in his gut.

Dr. Evans stepped out from behind the gelding. “John said you were coming home.”

The doc wore a canvas coat and jeans with her hair braided in a ponytail. Gil forced down any lingering resentment or suspicions he had. “I’m sorry about your clinic.”

She offered a faint smile. “You probably heard I moved to the ranch. I hope that’s all right. I’d hate to be a bother to you or your dad.”

A bother to me, but no bother to Dad.
Gil’s jaw tightened with distrust. Or jealousy?

“It’ll only be for a while,” she went on, “until I get my feet on the ground.”

He noticed the dark shadows beneath her lower lashes and guilt besieged him. The little lady had been under great stress from tending his horse, and now she’d lost her home, her business. He rebuked himself for his silent condemnation.

“How’s he doing?” Gil nodded toward Dusty, concentrating on the horse instead of the doc.

“His fever’s returned and he’s still not eating good. I came out to check his bandages and found his lacerations swollen and warm to the touch. He needs a larger dose of antibiotics.” Her mouth pinched into a frown. “The last of my supply is in the cabin refrigerator.”

Gil’s temperature escalated with the news of Dusty’s lack of recuperation. Suddenly, getting away from this woman — even for a few minutes — would do him good. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

Dr. Evans wiped the sawdust from her jeans, then informed him which bottles to bring back. Gil took off hastily for the cabin.

What kind of mistake had he made in giving this woman charge over his horse? Why hadn’t he listened when she admitted her incompetence? He should have taken her advice and sent Dusty to K-State. At least there, they would have given him proper medical treatment . . .

When Gil returned to the barn, he found Mattie swabbing Dusty’s wounds with antiseptic.

“Come on, boy, you have to fight.” She patted the horse on his neck, her concern evident.

Gil handed her the medicine she’d requested, his mind in turmoil. He knew the doc had done all in her power to care for Dusty. She couldn’t be blamed for the loss of her home and clinic — her supplies and medicines. But that didn’t help Dusty. “This was the last of the penicillin.”

Dr. Evans filled a syringe with the antibiotic. “There’s enough here to alleviate the swelling and stop his fever. I’ll keep an eye out for colic and laminitis and will continue his liquids until he’s back on feed. Tomorrow, I want to start hydrotherapy treatment.”

She’d spoken this way before, when he’d first seen Dusty’s wounds. A skilled professional, void of emotion. “Is he going to make it, Mattie?”

Her tormented expression resembled that of a child who didn’t have the answer to an important question. When her bottom lip quivered, Gil fought the temptation to take her in his arms and comfort her. He reminded himself that the doc was no child.

She straightened her shoulders and smiled, her insecurity replaced with sheer determination as she injected the medicine. “Prayer and loving attention are the best we can do for him. As soon as I get a clinic set up, I’d like to take another x-ray to see how his fractures are healing.”

Gil kicked at the dirt floor with his shoe. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’ve retired from the game. While I’m here, I thought I’d work on the ranch. See if I can get it in shape. I can help with your clinic too — I need to do something to keep busy.” He grinned, but the truth was no joke.

She stared at him with no smart reply. It struck him how attractive she was, even in work clothes with her face smudged by dirt and worry. No wonder his father was so besotted. It was a chore not to become that way himself.

“I don’t suppose you have any influence with insurance companies?” She grinned and brushed a stray curl from her face. “My settlement won’t come close to covering my loss, but it’ll get me started.”

Mattie collected the items she’d used to treat Dusty and deposited the soiled cotton into a trash bin. “The tack room needs electrical outlets installed to handle x-rays and my other machines. I’ll pay for the work done, of course.” She stood at the hydrant and sprayed water into a bucket to wash her hands.

Gil inspected the barn. How would they ever turn this place into a proper facility? They could put the smaller animals in hanging cages, but the examining room would require time and funds the doc obviously didn’t have.

“We’re getting the upgrade, it’s only fair we cover the expenses,” he said.

Mattie lowered her eyes. “You and your dad have done too much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to.” That he felt compelled to offer such generosity surprised him. But he couldn’t retract his words even if he wanted to — which he didn’t.

“I can’t tell you how much that means. Truly, I’m overwhelmed. Jake and your dad already helped build shelves to stock my medicine and equipment. I can’t accept more.”

Gil cleared his throat, his charitable spirit tainted by the reminder of his dad working out in the barn. “Now that I’m here there’s no need to trouble Dad with this project. The physical stress can’t be good for him.”

Mattie frowned. “I hope you don’t think I’d risk John’s health.”

“Are you saying he didn’t exert himself?”

Her eyes flashed. “He sat on a stool and gave orders.”

Gil’s mouth twitched, proven wrong again. He really didn’t want to think poorly of the doc, so why was that always his first inclination? “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“You’re right about one thing, though.” An amused giggle escaped her lips. “We could use your muscle for all the heavy work that needs to be done.”

Gil questioned her attempt to exploit his help but smiled at the thought that maybe the doc wasn’t completely immune to football players, after all.

EIGHTEEN

THE NEXT MORNING, FROST COVERED THE GROUND, AND THE SKY loomed gray and dreary, typical January weather. Mattie entered the barn, and Dusty greeted her with a nicker.

“Hey, boy.” She put her face to his neck in a gentle hug, relishing his warm scent. A quick examination revealed the swelling and fever had subsided. Relief washed over her that the medication had worked. She offered him some feed, and this time the horse took in a few mouthfuls. Mattie continued her morning routine, her hands no longer tender from the burns. God was good indeed. He’d looked after her and had given her a home and a place for business. Even her relationship with Gil seemed more positive.

After her chores, Mattie began cleaning the tack room and carried out the first of the saddles. She met Jake in the center of the barn.

“What’cha doing there, Missy? Here, let me get that for you.” The old ranch hand took the heavy saddle from her by the horn.

Her burden lifted, she spun to retrieve another item and nearly collided into Gil. He sauntered past in navy sweats, his brow beaded with perspiration.

“I heard you rolled in last night with a brand new truck.” Jake set the saddle on the dirt floor. “Now that you’re home, I don’t suppose you’d have time to help me out this morning?”

Gil mopped his forehead with the towel slung around his neck. “What’s the problem?”

Jake scratched his whiskery chin, hesitant to continue. “Well, I hate to bother you . . . but one of the bulls got in with some heifers. I need to move him, but he’s being cantankerous. Can’t herd him or nothing. If I had my wits, I’d load him in the trailer, but I’m not as quick as I used to be.”

Mattie waited for Gil’s response. If he didn’t offer his assistance, she would. She was about to say so when he finally spoke.

“You need me to saddle up?” A grin spread across Gil’s face as though warming to the idea. “Been a long time, but I reckon I can help.”

Mattie would give a hundred dollars to see Gil work a bull. “Me too,” she volunteered, fearing they wouldn’t let her go. “You might need an extra hand out there. I can ride Tulip.”

The two men exchanged dubious glances, and she half expected them to tell her a woman on the job would cause bad luck, something she’d heard more than once since her return to the Flint Hills.

“Herding a bull ain’t no place for a lady. You could git into a world of hurt. Tulip ain’t been ridden much, and with this cool weather, she’ll likely be sassy.” Jake shook his head, but Mattie caught a hint of indecision.

“I’ll keep my distance.” Her gaze shifted from one man to the other. “I watched my father pen bulls lots of times. And I promise, I’ll only help if you need me.”

Jake scratched his chin and looked at Gil. “Have any objections?”

Gil raised his hands in the air. “I learned the hard way not to mess with the doc.” He grinned, and sheer pleasure trickled down Mattie’s backbone.

At Gil’s response, Jake retrieved the saddle he’d set down. “Best get going, then. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

SITTING ASTRIDE ONE OF HIS FATHER’S DEPENDABLE HORSES, GIL twisted in the saddle, the oiled leather foreign beneath his seat and legs. How long had it been since he’d roped a steer? A quick tally revealed it’d been at least four years, since he’d attended charity event in California. And now he was going to help catch a bull?

I must be crazy.

He pushed his old straw cowboy hat further down on his head, surprised he’d found it in his room and that it still fit. It couldn’t be harder than riding a bicycle. Trouble was — his childhood wheels always had four legs and a tail, and the speeds he’d known had been walk, trot, gallop, and run — fast and faster. He twirled the lariat above his head several times, then released the fifty-foot coil onto the ground in an effort to get a feel for the rope.

It reminded him of being stowed up with a knee injury for two weeks, then suddenly turned out to walk without a crutch. He gathered the cord and tried again, this time aiming for something solid.

“How’s it going?” Mattie came up beside him on Tulip, all smiles on that pretty face of hers. He threw his loop at a wooden post and missed.

“I do believe I’ve lost my groove.” Gil yanked the lariat across the ground and wound it up to try once more. He hated to admit that his time as a cowboy might have come and gone.

“You’ll get the hang of it after a few more tosses. After all, you’re a professional passer. Throwing a rope ought to be a piece of cake for you.” Mattie trotted toward the barn, and Tulip swished her tail at him, as sassy as her rider.

“Why don’t you see if Jake’s ready to head out,” he called to her backside, wishing a hundred times he hadn’t agreed to let her tag along. Having her there would only mean trouble, and he didn’t need that kind of pressure. She waved her hand in the air, and Gil swore laughter floated back to him. If he had a football, he’d launch it at her and knock the woman off her high horse. He’d show her exactly what a professional passer could do.

Wanting time on the horses, he and Mattie headed through the east pasture, while Jake followed in the livestock trailer. The gray metal frame jostled with every bump of the tires over rocks and ruts. In a couple months, it would be time to burn the prairie grass, something Gil always enjoyed. He once held in awe the monstrous flames that sometimes reached twice as high as his mount, the intense heat and danger of being caught in the backfires.

His mama used to scold that he ought to do like the rest of the ranchers and light the fire by four-wheeler or truck, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun. His lips curved into a devilish grin as he checked the height of the dead bluestem, which in places reached to his stirrup. He guessed this year would be no different. Ought to burn like hell itself.

“Which pasture is he in?” Gil asked as Jake passed by in the truck moments later.

“We’ve got the heifers in the lower Knoll pasture.”

Two sections away. Gil took the initiative and brought his mount into a gallop, taking the lead. No sense gallivanting when there was work to do. Shortly thereafter, he came to a bumpy halt at the first cattle guard and opened the gate beside it without dismounting from his saddle.

“How old is this dun mare, anyway?” He hollered into the still morning air as Jake caught up to him.

“Eight. We bought her several years ago at a big horse sale in South Dakota.” Jake passed over the guard with a big grin. “Rides like a choo choo train, don’t she?”

Gil had to admit she was a bit rough — like pegs poking into the ground, but the girl had speed. “Any particular reason you bought her?”

“You know your dad’s fondness for mares. He liked her eyes. Said they were honest and packed lots of heart. She’s got cow sense too, and is quick on her feet.”

Gil laughed. “Dad always was a sucker for a pretty face.” Come to think of it, Gil had a soft spot for a pretty face as well, especially if it boasted little reddish freckles against fiery green eyes. He spun the mare in time to see Mattie dig her heels into Tulip’s side, careening her up and over the metal cattle guard as though the horse was good and primed.

Fool woman — the horse could have balked, got her foot caught in-between the pipes, thrown her rider.

“What were you thinking?” He yelled at her, his whole body heated at the thought of Mattie’s small frame lying in a heap on the ground. “You could have been hurt pulling a stunt like that — or worse, hurt the horse.”

The woman drew Tulip in a circle and smiled, fueling his anger. “But I wasn’t, which leaves you holding the gate.”

Gil exchanged looks with Jake, his temperature rising.

“I guess she got you.” The old-timer howled and slammed his fist against the door of the truck in a lighthearted gesture.

Gil shut the gate, then took off into the next pasture, the sturdy mare practically jarring him from his seat.

So much for pretty faces
.