She blinked, uncertain as to whether she wanted to step foot on the Walking W if the boss was busy with Deenie Day.
“Please, Miz Bailey,” Chili prompted, “we sure could use your assistance, sooner than later!”
Chapter Three
The only way Deenie managed to get a forkful of pie into Michael’s mouth was that his jaw dropped when Bailey swished through the kitchen door behind Chili. “Bailey!” He jumped to his feet, chewing as fast as he could and swallowing guiltily. Deenie stood ready to land another forkful between his lips if he wasn’t careful. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Deenie.” Laser-blue eyes turned on Michael with cool acknowledgment. “Chili asked me to come over and take a look at Fred Peters. We didn’t mean to interrupt your…dessert.” She swept the laden fork Deenie held with a meaningful glance.
Michael wiped his mouth with a napkin as he took in Bailey’s blue dress, which was far too short and feminine to warrant wearing in this cold weather—and certainly too short to be worn in the vicinity of Gunner King. His heart froze as he imagined Gunner touching Bailey’s silky-smooth legs. “We were finished,” he said abruptly. “Why didn’t you come get me, Chili?”
“Because we knew you were busy,” Chili replied accusingly. “We didn’t want to interrupt.”
He saw the pink spots burning in Bailey’s cheeks but put it down to wind chap. “There’s nothing to interrupt. Where’s Fred?”
“In the TV room.” Chili hurried out, and after one last glance at the pie and Deenie, Bailey followed him without so much as another look at Michael. He’d been hoping the woman would come around for the better part of two weeks, and when she finally did, she acted like he was no more than a neighbor. He wondered how close Gunner was managing to get to his girl and decided it was better not to speculate.
“Excuse me,” Michael said to Deenie, hurrying after Chili. He heard her boots behind his and wished she’d taken the hint to stay put.
To his amazement, Fred lay flat on his back on the carpet, his sock-clad foot caught in an automatic putting cup.
“What in blazes are you doing, Fred?” Michael demanded.
Bailey had knelt beside the skinny cowboy and was examining where his toes disappeared inside the mechanical device. “You’re stuck good,” she told him. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much.” Fred grunted the words, but it was clear he was humiliated and in pain. “I shouldn’t have kicked the stupid golf ball into the cup. But I lost my temper. I just can’t putt like Nicklaus.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing—or seeing. “Since when did you take up golf?”
“Since we thought about retiring,” Fred said woefully. “We heard it was what a fellow did with his free time.”
Bailey lifted Fred’s foot gently, holding the cup so it wouldn’t pull on his toes. “Let’s see if we can force some of the blood back into your foot so the swelling might go down and loosen you up.”
“I have never seen anything so ridiculous in my whole life,” Deenie stated.
The three cowboys favored her with a baleful stare. She plopped into a chair and stared at the TV screen, where it was Greg Norman’s turn to putt. “Now, there’s a man who probably knows what to do with his putter,” she said to the room at large.
Bailey turned and gave Deenie her most disgusted frown. “Deenie, could you please make yourself useful and bring me some ice? Since you’re acquainted with the kitchen?”
This she directed his way, Michael noticed with displeasure. “I’ll get it,” he said quickly, not wanting Bailey to think he was helpless the way her father had been. “You stay right there,” he said to Deenie.
“I’ll wait for you, Michael,” she murmured with a sweet smile for Bailey’s sake.
He couldn’t be bothered with that silly remark. Fred was clearly in pain, so he hurried off to do Bailey’s bidding. When he returned, she had the putter unplugged, Fred’s foot elevated against an ottoman, and she was peering up his ankle into the cup.
“Maybe I should take a look,” Michael offered.
“No!” Fred cried. “Don’t let him, Bailey! He’ll leave my toes in there!”
“Michael!” Bailey’s glance was stern. “I can handle this! You’re just making matters worse, upsetting poor Fred.”
“I—” He held out the ice in a plastic container. He’d been trying to assist her, and already she thought he was a lost cause. Poor Fred, indeed. He was milking Bailey’s warmth and sunshine like a professional con man.
“What a crybaby!” Deenie leaned back in the chair and curled her legs underneath her. “I’ve fallen off horses and not cried as loud as you are.”
“Maybe it’s because once you had that lobotomy, you lost all feeling,” someone muttered under his or her breath.
“Who said that?” Michael demanded. He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t think it had been Bailey. Her eyes were amazingly serene and innocent. “There’s no reason for rudeness.”
Bailey sighed. “Michael, maybe you could take Deenie to the kitchen and get her a glass of tea. I think Fred could relax more if his every move wasn’t being scrutinized. I’ll have him out of this raccoon trap in a jiff.”
She really did think he was helpless. And in his own house! “All right,” Michael said, defeated. “Deenie, let’s head back to the kitchen.”
“Gladly.” She shot Bailey a pleased smile as she exited the room.
Bailey patted Fred’s cheek when they were gone. “You nearly got yourself in big trouble.”
“I know.” His lips were pinched with pain. “I’m not the kindest person when I don’t feel good. I broke my arm once when the old man was alive, and as he was taking me to the hospital, I told him what a sorry-ass, son of—”
“I get your drift.” Bailey smiled at him. “I’m not myself when I don’t feel good, either. Most people aren’t.”
“Is he going to have to go to the hospital?” Curly asked worriedly. “He doesn’t like it much when he goes. Doesn’t care for women in white—nurses or brides.”
“No.” Gingerly, she put her fingers into the cup and felt where Fred’s toes were obstructed.
“We tried poking tongs in there, but he hollered something fierce and my fingers are too durn big,” Chili said sorrowfully. “We knew you could probably do the trick.”
“And this once, I can.” Gently, she released Fred’s toes and slid the device off, revealing red and angry marks on his skin. “You’d better keep your foot up for a while.”
He scooched to a chair and heaved himself in it. Curly propped a pillow underneath his friend’s foot. “Shoo! I thought I was going to lose a toe! Bless you, Miss Bailey.”
“You’re welcome, Fred.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get home. If you don’t mind, Chili, I think I’ll go out the front door instead of the kitchen door.”
“I’d rather myself,” he agreed. “She’s an alligator!”
Bailey laughed but hurt all the more for knowing that Michael must like the Rodeo Queen if he was eating her pie, from her fork, no less. “You fellows be careful. Good night.”
“Good night!” Curly and Fred called.
Chili opened the