Winsor, Linda

by Along Came Jones

  "Mornin'." Shep shifted his focus to the project at hand. Some of the planks in the door had been split and needed to be replaced, but most of them could be simply renailed and braced.

  Cutting a wide path around the barred openings of the now empty stalls, Deanna approached him. "So what do you want me to do today?"

  He looked up from the broken door in surprise.

  "I mean, the house is clean, and I've torn up everything I can in there, so I thought I'd start on the barn," she explained with an exaggerated shrug. "Gotta earn my keep, right?"

  Shep acknowledged her with a grunt. "Just don't spook the horses with those fancy jeans." Heaven knew they spooked him— or at least the feelings they provoked did.

  "Okay, they're too flashy for the boardroom or the stable, but they were free and they fit." She flanked her concession with an impish grin. "So what do I do?"

  Shep thought a moment. "You think you can reach just under the bar there and grab those water buckets? They need emptying, rinsing, and refilling with fresh water." He'd turned the animals out to drink at the water trough in the corral, once they'd been fed, but hadn't gotten around to giving them fresh water inside. "And the stalls need to be cleaned out and fresh straw put down."

  "Will do." Not quite as chipper as before, Deanna glanced uncertainly into one of the empty stables. "You don't think the horses will come back while I'm in here, do you?"

  "I doubt it, but I'll close the corral gate just in case, how's that?"

  "Sounds great. Thanks."

  If only she weren't so appreciative, so agreeable and willing to tackle anything, so—

  Disconcerted, Shep leaned the damaged door against an old sawhorse and closed the doors. When he came through the last one, he noticed Smoky had found a place in the shade and, eyes bright with curiosity, watched Deanna tackle the first water bucket.

  She struggled with the hook that held it suspended at the horse's head level. On seeing the rubber pail was nearly full, Shep started to offer to take it down for her, when she released it.

  "I got it," she grunted, lowering it to her arms' limit.

  Returning to the repair of the stable door, Shep took up a nail to replace one of the bent ones he'd removed earlier, but he couldn't help watching Deanna's awkward waddle toward the back door of the livery stable with the sloshing bucket balanced between her knees. With a grin, he took up the hammer and started a downward swing when a shriek accompanied the emptying splash of water outside.

  The end of his thumb exploded in pain, making an expressive hiss that leaked through Shep's clenched teeth.

  "Eww," Deanna wailed, "what kind of an animal does that in his water bucket?"

  Eyes watering, Shep tried to squeeze the agony out with his other hand, jaws clenched in silence. If he wasn't so angry over his recklessness, he'd have laughed in anticipation of what had grossed the city gal out. It was a fact of life with livestock. With a horse's intake and output valves on the same plane, manure sometimes found its way into their water containers, even when hung on the jamb.

  "That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen."

  Just wait till you see the stables. His response never went beyond thought, for Shep feared more than those words lurked behind his grating teeth, waiting for the chance to find voice. He rolled his eyes up at the dust-laden, cobweb-strung ceiling. Lord, this is not going to work.

  Unaware of his pressing affliction, Deanna rinsed out the bucket, her face screwed in disdain. Most noses weren't that cute wrinkled up like that. Shep finally let out the breath he'd seized upon the sharp impact of the hammer. When he thought it was safe, he eased up on the pressure on his thumb, allowing blood to throb back into it. It hurt like the devil.

  "What's wrong with you?"

  The innocent widening of Deanna's curious gaze only added to his aggravation. Maybe he shouldn't talk just yet, he thought, clamping down on words again. When it was obvious he had no intention of answering, she waddled back with the refilled bucket and set it down in front of the stable.

  "You banged your thumb?"

  Those expressive blues fixed on him were deep enough for a guy to fall into.

  "Let me see it."

  Shep clenched his hand against his chest. The last thing he needed was the source of his pain treating it. "N...no, it's fine."

  "Come on; let me see."

  "It's fine."

  "You're white as a sheet and sweating bullets." She reached for his hand. "Now let me see."

  That did it. "If you hadn't been babbling on about horse—" he paused in midsentence— "droppings in water, I wouldn't have done it in the first place."

  He didn't think it was possible, but his accusation made her eyes widen even more with incredulity... or indignation.

  "Well, pardon me for my ignorance about the decided lack of horse hygiene, Forrest Grump. I didn't know talk was forbidden in the barn. I guess stupid is as stupid does."

  Deanna's muster of defiance cracked with the slight quiver of her upturned chin. "You will not hear one more word from me. I mean, heaven forbid you have another boo-boo. You might bite my head off and spit down my neck."

  Shep knew a no-win situation when he saw one, and he was steeped in no-win up to his neck. Still, he felt compelled to try. "Look, I'm sorry. That was the pain talking. Just forget it, okay?"

  "Sure, no problem."

  The words said one thing; Deanna's voice said the opposite. Shep took up the hammer and pried off a loose splinter with the claw, watching as the stubborn city gal struggled to hang the full bucket. She lifted it twice, but after using her knee as a bolster, got it on the second try The gentleman within pointed a guilty finger at him, but Shep ignored the voice. The way he saw it, he was condemned if he did, convicted it he didn't—either way he was going to pay.

  Seventeen

  "Is your knee bothering you?" Deanna asked as she put the large salad she'd made on the table along with two dressings.

  With the boost of an antihistamine for watery eyes, she'd finished her stable cleaning and put fresh hay in each stall. To her amazement, the smell of the fresh hay was refreshing in a down-home sort of way, like fresh sheets on a bed. Not that she'd want to roll around in it, considering what she just shoveled out, but this evening the horses should enjoy stretching out and reveling in the scent and feel of the newness—unless they had allergies.

  "It gets a little stiff when I can't stretch it out," Shep acknowledged, heading for the bathroom to wash up for lunch. "It'll work out."

  Deanna glanced guiltily at the sofa where her gracious host had spent the nights since she'd been stranded there.

  "You know, there really is no reason you shouldn't sleep in your own bed. After all, it is your house, and I'm not exactly an invited guest."

  The running bathroom faucet drowned her out. A minute later, Shep emerged, his hair damp and neatly combed. The edges of his rolled-up sleeves were slightly damp from where he'd evidently rinsed his hair and face without the benefit of a cloth. Somehow the reckless dunk-and-towel-dry look became him.

  "I was taught to give ladies the best seat, and I guess that goes for a bed as well. Aunt Sue wouldn't give me a moment's peace if I didn't." He assessed the salad before sitting down.

  "Something wrong?" she asked.

  He hesitated, then shook his head. "It looks good. I just think I'll fix a sandwich to go with it."

  "I'll do it."

  "Sit!"

  Deanna obeyed the sharp command as instinctively as the dog that waited next to the table in hopes of a dropped treat. "I guess hard physical work demands a different diet than white-collar jobs."

  "I guess your white-collar beau considered all this rabbit food with no protein a meal?"

  Shep slapped together two slices of bread with a chunk of cheese in the middle and sat down without bothering to cut it in half like Gram always did. "Around here, it's a side dish." He lowered his head, prompting Deanna to do the same, and offered a short grace.

  Dea
nna reached for the salad dressing as Shep took a bite out of his sandwich. There was a loud silence as she tossed the oil and vinegar among the greens. The veggies crunching as she ate her first forkful sounded like some kind of food grinder, no matter how softly she tried to chew. After what seemed like an eternity, she swallowed.

  "Look, I'm sorry—" Shep began as if he'd been waiting for a lull in the mastication.

  "I'm sorry—" she said at the same time.

  Deanna blushed as their gazes locked and gave in to the smile prompted by Shep's grin.

  "Ladies first." Shep sat back expectantly

  "I was just going to say I'm really sorry you hurt your thumb. It looks awful." She shivered involuntarily. It did. The nail was black now and the flesh was a screaming red.

  "And I was going to say I'm sorry for being a Forrest Grump."

  "I have a smart mouth," she said with an apologetic shrug. "And it slips into gear before the brain. I gotta get that worked on."

  Shep brushed aside her apology with a wave of his sandwich. "I deserved it." He put down his napkin next to the salad bowl. "For a city slicker, you did a good job today I didn't think you'd last past the first stall... only heard you gag once."

  Embarrassed, Deanna rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "It's just... I mean, not just defecating in their water bowl, but in their beds and lying in it?" She shuddered. "What, horses have no shame?"

  "It's just the way horses are." He looked at Smoky. "Dogs don't exactly meet human standards in hygiene either. That's why they call them animals."

  "Good point. I just wasn't prepared. I certainly never saw such things on Dad's Westerns, which is—was—the full extent of my horse education." She paused in thought, her fork in front of her mouth. "I figured you fed them with a bag on their nose, gave them water from a creek or your hat, slapped a saddle on them, mounted with a running leap, and hi ho Silver away. I guess that's what I was expecting—a TV ranch." She shrugged. "And who'd have thought a wheelbarrow was so hard to steer?"

  Shep laughed. She'd put too much manure in the barrow and not only narrowly missed running Smoky down, but almost dumped it in the barn entrance.

  "It's an art," he conceded.

  "Yeah, well I'll get it." Deanna hated for something like that to get the best of her, especially when it looked so easy.

  "It's not like you'll be using that skill when you leave here."

  Shep's observation dropped like a wet towel over the barely reestablished camaraderie between them. So it was just as Deanna thought earlier. He wanted her out of his life. He was just too polite to let on, obliged as he felt to put her up.

  "True," she admitted, "but maybe it will be like riding a bicycle. It will always be there, should I need the skill."

  Shep finished his sandwich and the salad, the latter most likely out of politeness, and went out to work with the mare. Deanna watched him for a long while through the kitchen window as he talked to the animal, coaxing it with motions of his hands or feet. Whatever he was teaching, he did so with a gentle patience while Patch watched from the outer pasture like an old pro observing a rookie.

  She recalled how the horse always ran up to greet Shep. You'd almost think I was jealous, Deanna thought with a pang, jealous... of a horse!

  "That does it. I've got to do something to save my sanity"

  Smoky turned from his watch by the front door as if she'd spoken to him. His tail twitched in answer.

  "But what?" She walked over and gave her furry companion a friendly scratch.

  Framed by the door, the picture of Hopewell's lone street lined with buildings of a bygone era lured her attention from the dog. A hint of a smile took over Deanna's lips, reflecting the idea the scene sparked in her mind.

  The jury was still out on whether she'd come to the right place for refuge, but looking at the ghost town through the eyes of an entrepreneur, she suspected there were possibilities here that Shepard Jones never thought of. Regardless, a little exploring wouldn't hurt. And just in case— She began to scrounge through the paper and magazine rubble atop the radio desk. It wouldn't hurt to take a notepad along... and the fearless watchdog, now on his feet, watching her in anticipation.

  Eighteen

  Early that evening, after a quick shower and change, Deanna rode with Shep toward Taylorville. She and Smoky had checked out the main buildings along the street, but the Hotel Everett had captured Deanna's imagination with its rich Victorian trappings. There had to be a fortune's worth of antiques and building materials if Shep wanted to sell it piecemeal and demolish it. But restored, it could be worth that much and produce income to boot.

  There were still gorgeous carved dressing screens and some original furniture in the rooms upstairs and the lobby. Its elegance and the dust—not to mention the fright the young geologist with the buff body gave Deanna and Smoky when he descended the grand staircase—took her breath away.

  After admitting that her footsteps had given him pause for thought as well, the living, breathing ghost apologized for scaring her and renewed an apparent friendship with her watch mongrel. He left Deanna with visions of dollar signs dancing in her head. With the right backing, she'd wager the ghost town could make more money than all the horses Shep could train or breed in a lifetime.

  "Well, there it is," Shep announced as they approached a sign that read Welcome to Taylorville. "The big town."

  Putting her idea aside, Deanna took in the city ahead. Taylorville was a big town by Buffalo Butte's one-stoplight standard. There was actually a bypass around the business section of the city, but the Smart Mart store was at the intersection of the bypass and the old route on which the town had been built at the turn of the century Its architecture was certainly larger and more modern than the Victorian quaintness of Buffalo Butte. Signs from some of the national fast-food chains dotted the highway, separated by businesses that had outgrown the city limits.

  Shep pulled into one of the burger places next to a truck dealership for a quick supper before shopping at the Smart Mart. Although silent while she did the stable chores that morning, muscles Deanna didn't even know she had now shouted at her in protest of their abuse as she eased gingerly into one of the wooden booths across from her host. The adrenaline rush of her exploration and speculation must have masked her misery until now. While Shep filled their drink cups, she dug an aspirin from her purse and discreetly took it rather than admit her greenhorn misery.

  "Do you know how much fat is in one of those?" she asked a few minutes later as the cowboy lifted a double slab of burger smothered with all colors of condiments to his mouth.

  "No, and I don't care. I'll work it off."

  His lean frame testified to that, she mused, taking a bite of her grilled chicken sandwich.

  A gaggle of preschoolers passed by in a helter-skelter stampede toward a table across the room where birthday balloons had been set up. A harried mom and dad brought up the rear, arms loaded with presents.

  Shep shook his head. "It'd be easier to herd cats," he remarked under his breath.

  "You don't like kids?" It shocked Deanna. Somehow she thought that his patience with animals might make him a good dad.

  "I love kids... in small numbers."

  Why that tidbit of information made her feel better was beyond her. Their relationship didn't stand a chance of getting that far.

  "How's your Chicken Lite meal?"

  "Not bad." Conscience bade her add, "Not as good as yours looks—that is, if you scraped a half pound of ketchup off it."

  "What about the fat in those fries?"

  Deanna put a protective hand over the super size order of tasty fries. "French fries are sacred. Besides, everyone knows a body needs some fat intake."

  Challenging the skeptical lift of Shep's brow, she shoved a few into her mouth as if to prove it.

  "Sacred, huh?" That rakish grin of his was enough to curl her toes. It had to be fattening or something equally corrupting.

  "Whenever I got sick, Pop always broug
ht home the best French fries from the local grill—not that I ever met a fry I didn't like. Hot... cold... I could always be tempted with a French fry."

  "I'll have to keep that in mind."

  Deanna nearly choked on her half-swallowed potato. Was there some double meaning here, as if he might want to tempt her? She chased the fry down with a long sip of soda. Nah, he was just teasing her. A sudden pop of a balloon from the birthday table across the room startled her from her whimsy.

  "Not nervous are you?"

  Deanna shook her head. The slow ka-thumping renewal of her heartbeat reminded her of her earlier scare that day "You know, that surveyor guy scared the bejittles out of me this afternoon. I was in the old hotel and Smoky broke out barking—"

  Shep scowled. "Voorhees?"

  "No, it was the quiet blond guy."

  "He didn't bother you, did he?"

  "No, we talked for only a minute. Seems I scared him as well," she said in an effort to defuse the tension drawing Shep's hands into a fist on the table. His playful teddy bear humor had turned to that of an irate grizzly. Maybe Shep didn't like the idea of the survey for some reason.

  "What was he doing in there?"

  "The same thing I was, I guess—exploring."

  "Did he question you?"

  Deanna began to feel like food wasn't the only thing being grilled. "No, it's not like I'd know anything about the place anyway."

  Could it be that if the geologists found something worth mining, it was a problem?

  "Well, if you see him snooping around the house, let me know."

  "Why? Have you got a pot of gold hidden under it?" When Shep didn't share her jest, she became serious. "What would happen if they found gold or copper or whatever? Would they tear up the ranch?"

  "The government owns the mineral rights. I'm not sure what a discovery like that would entail. I'd have to check the agreement Uncle Dan signed. I just don't like strangers snooping around my home without asking. You were invited."