Lois Greiman - [Hope Springs 02]

by Home Fires

  She laughed, astounded. “What are you thinking, Dickenson? Are you saying you’re going to give up rodeo? You saying you’re going to stay forever to babysit teenagers and …” She flipped a hand toward the decrepit house. “Fix the plumbing?”

  He watched her, body still, voice low. “Is that what you want?”

  She watched him, unblinking. A thousand frenetic emotions swooshed through her. A thousand pictures of tranquil domesticity eased into her soul, but she forced a laugh. “You’re a rodeo cowboy. A bronc rider. Songs are written about how you love ’em and leave ’em. About how you—”

  “I could be something else.”

  She blinked, held her breath, forced herself to speak again. “For how long?” His eyes made her chest hurt. A hundred uncertainties squeezed in. “If you were here and then changed your mind, it would break my …” She stopped herself. “It would break Emily’s heart.”

  He stared at her.

  She glanced away. “She’s been disappointed too much already.”

  “Maybe I won’t disappoint her.”

  She shook her head, feeling frantic. “She’s fragile. I know she … she doesn’t seem like it, but she’s been through a lot, and now … What if something goes wrong? I’ve tried to make sure she eats right and doesn’t work too hard. But I don’t know anything about prenatal care and—”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Everything will be all right.”

  She drew a deep breath and remained silent for a while, trying to yank herself from his gaze, but it was almost impossible. “How do you know?”

  He scowled at her.

  It wasn’t like her to question, to hound. But maybe she was growing up. “How do you know so much about pregnancy?”

  The night was absolutely quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I’m an uncle, remember?”

  She raised one brow at him.

  “Sissy has a couple of kids.”

  “And what were you?” she scoffed. “Her designated birth coach?”

  He shrugged. “Carson was in Iraq. Second tour. She was alone on a couple thousand acres when little Tuff was due. I thought it wouldn’t kill me to pitch in for a while.”

  “Oh.” She felt sheepish and small and petty. “I guess I forgot.”

  “That she has kids?”

  She drew a deep breath and decided to go with honesty. “That you’re not always an ass anymore.”

  He laughed. “Geez, Case, that’s so flattering. You’re not trying to seduce me or something, are you?” he asked and stepped forward.

  For a moment she forgot to step back. Forgot to deny everything.

  “Cuz if you want, we could start back up where we left off.”

  She opened her mouth, but in that moment he slipped his fingers behind her neck. Her lips remained parted. He kissed her.

  She felt the blood rush to her extremities. Felt herself weaken.

  “I mean …” He breathed the words against her lips. “My shirt’s buttoned wrong anyway. And you look …” His nostrils flared as he stared at her. The expression in his eyes made her swallow, try to back away, and fail completely. Men didn’t look at her like that. Men mostly ignored her. But her hair had come loose during the debacle by his truck and curled around her face like the morning glories on the front porch. Her lips felt bruised, and her shirt seemed to be shrink-wrapped to her breasts. “Good God, Case, you look good enough to eat.”

  She blinked. Tried to think of something to say, came up empty.

  He raised his brows a little. “I think all the kids that are going to interrupt us have already passed by. And your last guest already left, right?”

  She managed a nod. If she lived to be a hundred she would never know how.

  “Which means the bunkhouse is empty?”

  Another nod. This one was a little less steady. He skimmed his thumb over her lips. She shivered and swiped them with her tongue.

  “No one would know if we put it to use.”

  She couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at him.

  “Case?”

  She blinked. “Yeah?”

  He watched her for an eternity, finally chuckled, then leaned in and kissed her again. Her lips melted first, then her neck, then her spine, then her knees, until she was sure she would flow out from under his hands like a sun-warmed Popsicle, but in a moment he pulled away. They stared at each other for an eternity. A thousand emotions shone in his eyes.

  “Good night, Casie,” he said, and turning, disappeared into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 5

  “I left it in the bathroom.” Sophie’s voice was loud, clear, and as pissy as hell from the kitchen below.

  Emily’s was calm and level, steady with the kind of exaggerated patience that made you want to grind your teeth. “Then chances are good that it’s still in the bathroom.”

  “I already told you, it’s not there.”

  “Then maybe you should look somewhere else.”

  Public radio played quietly in the background; a contingent of world-renowned scientists agreed that the earth was losing over five thousand species a year to extinction. The straight-talking district court judge, known by some as Judge Heartless, had recently resigned due to health problems. Emily was a self-confessed news junkie, but Sophie’s harangue could not be ignored.

  “Where’d you put it?”

  Casie rubbed her knuckles into her left eyeball and stumbled out of her bedroom. Teenagers … she thought … probably not God’s best invention. The fourth stair from the top groaned beneath her feet. She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten more than two seconds of sleep during the entire night.

  “Seriously?” Emily’s voice had become increasingly patient. As it turns out, there aren’t a lot of people who can fully appreciate the patient voice of a pregnant eighteen-year-old. “You think I stole it.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Have you seen my hair?” Emily Kane’s dreadlocks were her trademark … nearly as well known (but not as dreaded) as her stellar sarcasm … or her patient tone.

  “Listen, you may have Roberts fooled into thinking you’re some kind of blessed saint, but I know you’re nothing but a—”

  “Good morning!” Casie sped down the final steps and lurched into the kitchen before open warfare was declared.

  The girls turned to her in a second, both talking at once.

  “She took my curling iron.”

  “Why would I take her stupid …” Emily paused, brows rising as her attention settled on Casie. “What happened to you?”

  Casie raised her fingers to her face and darted her gaze from one girl to the other. Sophie was scowling. Emily was grinning. It wasn’t until that moment that Casie realized her lips felt bruised, her face flushed. “Nothing. Nothing happened to me. Why?” She tried to calm her tone and her expression and wondered if they knew she’d spent the night restless and conflicted. Wondered if they knew she’d never found the strength to turn Dickenson down. That it had been Colt himself who had called a stop to … whatever it was they had started.

  Emily’s grin hitched up a notch. “What time did Mr. Dickenson leave?”

  “Mr… .”

  “He looked good, huh? A little skinny maybe, but cowboy yummy.”

  “I …” Casie’s mind went momentarily numb, then snapped into action. “I’m sorry, Sophie.” She turned with robotic precision toward the younger girl. “I was the one who used your curling iron.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah, I …” She laughed, hoping rather manically they wouldn’t think she had gussied up for Dickey Dickenson, the bane of her existence. “I just wanted to look decent for the festival. You know. Not that my hair is the curling type. Either one of them.” She chuckled rustily at her own joke and dismissively flipped her hair behind her shoulder. It was thin, fine, and the unexciting color of caramel, but she had to admit that it almost looked decent when curled and shellacked into
submission.

  “It looks sexy,” Em said. “What did Mr. Dickenson say?”

  “I …” She remembered him saying she looked good enough to eat. Remembered the heat in his eyes, the strength in his hands as he slid them up her—

  “Where?” Sophie said.

  “What?” She yanked her attention back to the conversation at hand, feeling oddly immature in this house of teenage estrogen.

  Sophie looked disgruntled and maybe a little disgusted. “Where’d you put my curling iron?”

  “Oh. I left it in the bathroom.”

  “I looked in the bathroom.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s still—” she began, but Emily had never been above interrupting her at any given moment.

  “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have him sated and ecstatic in your bedroom upstairs, huh?”

  Casie zipped a reprimanding scowl at the older girl. “Emily!”

  “What?” She looked honestly affronted. “Geez, Case, you don’t have to live like a nun just because we’re here. We know about sex. Least I do.” She made a wry face and caressed her belly, which seemed to have expanded overnight. “You’ve heard of sex, too, haven’t you, Soph?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I have a few possessions of my own in this house. A couple pair of jeans … a curling iron. Maybe a—”

  “Holy cats!” Emily said. She and Casie had had long, grueling discussions regarding acceptable expletives. Holy cats had become her favorite, with holy shorts coming in a close second. Casie refused to consider what her unacceptable favorites were. “Will you just go look in the bathroom already?”

  “The bathroom’s the size of a turtle’s egg. You think I wouldn’t have seen it if it was—”

  “In the drawer,” Casie said, remembering suddenly. “I’m sorry. I put it in the top drawer. I thought that’s where you kept it.”

  “I …” Sophie began, but Emily stopped her.

  “That is where she keeps it.”

  “Stay out of this,” Sophie warned.

  “I don’t know why you’re getting so hot-wired,” Emily said. “It’s not like it’s the Holy Grail or something. It’s just a frickin’ curling iron.”

  “It’s my curling iron.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not as if you even need it. I mean, good God, golly,” she corrected, glancing at Casie. “It’s six thirty in the morning and you look like you just stepped off a high fashion runway.” She scowled. When Emily was honest, which was a sporadic thing at best, she was spooky honest. “Makes me want to eat my weight in salami.”

  “That’s …” Sophie, though pampered like a princess before her arrival at the Lazy, never quite seemed to know how to handle compliments. “It’s not as if it makes any difference. He doesn’t even …” She paused, shifted her gaze from one to the other, cheeks coloring a little.

  “What?” Casie said.

  “He who?” Emily said.

  “Nothing,” Sophie said, and turning, rummaged noisily through the silverware drawer.

  “He what?” Emily asked, sparing a grin for Casie. “Hey, you don’t have a thing for that shoot-’em-up cowboy, do you? Cuz he’s mine. Soon as I pop out this baby, I’m gonna throw him over my saddle and bring him on home to the Lazy.”

  Casie watched Sophie’s jerky movements. It wasn’t like her to get embarrassed, but Casie herself was all too familiar with the pangs of self-consciousness and drew the conversation in a different direction.

  “I thought you were looking for an elderly doctor, Em,” she said.

  “A sugar daddy. Sure,” Emily conceded happily. “Brooks Hedley’s just for sport.”

  Casie shook her head. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “Yeah, well, Sophie’s not as innocent as she seems.”

  “I meant for me,” Casie said.

  Emily laughed with her usual effusiveness. “I’m surprised you can even blush anymore after stashing Mr. Dickenson away in your bedroom last night.”

  “She’s down!” Ty burst into the kitchen like a tornado. There was terror in his eyes, a quiver in his voice.

  “What?” Casie was in full panic before another word was spoken.

  “It’s Angel!” He spit out the words. “I think she’s collicking.”

  “What happened?” she asked, but she was already rushing toward the foyer, searching for her boots with eyes too recently open.

  “She was flat out when I went to feed her. I thought she was just resting cuz she got up as soon as she saw me, but when I dumped the oats in her bucket she wouldn’t eat.”

  Casie swore in silence as she smashed a Marlboro cap onto her head. Horses didn’t turn away from oats unless they were sick. Prior to this, she’d been pretty sure Angel would have to be dead to refuse breakfast.

  “Did you take the grain back out?”

  “Didn’t have time. Came straight here. What are we going to do?”

  “Do you think she’s been rolling?” They were already rushing out the door together.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong with rolling?” Despite her bulk, Emily was only a half pace behind them.

  Sophie was closer still. “Horses have an esophageal sphincter that won’t allow them to throw up. They thrash around to try to alleviate the pain. Sometimes the agitation will cause a gut to twist. After that …” She fell blessedly silent.

  Thank you, Miss Happiness, Casie thought, and lengthened her strides. It was no secret that the Lazy could barely afford equine feed much less equine surgery.

  Inside the barn, Al, the follicly challenged goat, greeted them with an early-morning bleat, but Angel’s head remained unseen above her stall’s Dutch door. In a moment Casie was looking inside. The mare was down again, and there was no question that she was in pain. Her head was stretched out on the ground, her eyes half closed. Little moans of agony escaped at irregular intervals.

  “Get a halter on her,” Casie said.

  Ty was quick to do so. In a second he had crouched down to slip the nylon behind the mare’s long ears, but she was already rolling miserably onto her side.

  “Get her up!” Sophie ordered.

  “I’m trying.” Ty’s voice was raspy as he jerked on the lead line. But the old mare didn’t notice. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, legs flailing.

  “Quit trying and do it!” Sophie yelled.

  Casie stepped inside the stall, adding her strength to the lead. But suddenly, there was a crack of noise. Angel jolted to her feet, nearly trampling them in her haste to rise.

  Sophie stood behind her, whip in hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ty rasped.

  “Saving her life!”

  “Well, you don’t have to hit her.”

  “You want her to die? Is that what you want? Cuz if you don’t, you shouldn’t work her so hard.”

  “I didn’t work—”

  “Showing off for the buckle bunnies was what you were doing. It would serve you right if—”

  “Sophie!” Casie barked the girl’s name.

  The barn went quiet. Angel pawed frantically.

  “That’s enough,” Casie added and caught Sophie’s gaze in a hard stare. The girl turned back to the horse. All eyes shifted in that direction.

  There was hay scattered in the old mare’s scraggly mane, white rimmed her terrified eyes, and her coat was dark with sweat behind her ears and along her neck and flanks. She ground her teeth in hopeless agony.

  “What now?” Ty’s voice was little more than a whisper. In the past, he had proven to be a quick thinker in an emergency, but his wits seemed dim now, his reactions jerky.

  “Better get her walking,” Casie said.

  “Not if she twisted something,” Sophie said.

  Ty turned toward her. “What do we do then?” Perhaps it was a testament to his worry that he voiced the question to the girl he despised.

  “Surgery’s the only option.”

&n
bsp; Casie felt her stomach knot. She knew it was true. A twisted intestine was rarely, if ever, corrected without extremely invasive surgery. Extremely expensive surgery. She could feel Ty’s attention shift to her.

  She shook her head, only vaguely aware that she was doing so. “I can’t, Ty. I just … The Lazy …” The truth was, the Lazy was barely clearing expenses, and if she was going to fight a lawsuit … going to fight for the privilege of continuing to see the battered boy who had captured her heart, she would need every penny. But if she let him down now, would he even want to see her?

  “You don’t got the money?” His voice was low.

  Her own was barely audible. “I don’t.”

  “How about paying on credit?” Emily spoke for the first time. Her face was pale, her mocha eyes wide in the barn’s dim interior. She and Ty had shared a bond since before she’d ever set foot on the Lazy. “Or a loan.”

  “Dad didn’t … The Lazy doesn’t have a very good rapport with Dakota Equine.”

  Emily shifted her gaze to Ty’s face and winced. “There must be other places we could take her.”

  “Not that can handle this kind of surgery,” Casie said. “Not within a hundred miles.”

  “Then I guess we’d better get her to that one,” Sophie said.

  The three of them stared at her in uncertain silence.

  “Unless you just want to shoot her between the eyes,” Sophie snapped.

  No one breathed. Casie shifted her gaze to Ty. He stood absolutely still, watching her with dread and painful hopefulness.

  “I’ll hook up the trailer,” she said.

  CHAPTER 6

  The trailer door moaned like a ghost as Casie pulled it open. Her expression was taut with worry, pale with uncertainty. Ty couldn’t bear to look at her. She didn’t have the funds necessary to pay for major surgery. He knew that just like he knew he didn’t have a pot to pee in. But Angel … She shifted her dark eyes toward him. They were wide with the kind of fear he understood all too well. He put a hand on her neck and urged her forward. Pain, he knew, was driving daggers through her belly, but she did as she was asked and took a staggering step toward the trailer.

  “Call the hospital,” Sophie said.