Читать онлайн книгу «The Rancher′s Lullaby» автора Leigh Duncan

The Rancher's Lullaby
Leigh Duncan
SERENADING HIS SON The Circle P has always been home to the Judds. That’s why Garrett Judd came back—to take over as temporary ranch manager and to shelter his infant son in the warmth and love of his sprawling family. Bluegrass singer Lisa Rose isn’t part of his long-term plans. But ever since she hit town, the single father has been fighting his attraction to the willowy blonde.Lisa gave up her life on the road to open a music store, but if business doesn't pick up she may not last. Watching the rugged widowed rancher serenade his baby boy plucks at her heartstrings, making her long for something she’ll never have. But as long as Garrett keeps one cowboy boot in the past, they don’t stand a chance of building a future together.Do they?


SERENADING HIS SON
The Circle P has always been home to the Judds. That’s why Garrett Judd came back—to take over as temporary ranch manager and to shelter his infant son in the warmth and love of his sprawling family. Bluegrass singer Lisa Rose isn’t part of his long-term plans. But ever since she hit town, the single father has been fighting his attraction to the willowy blonde.
Lisa gave up her life on the road to open a music store, but if business doesn’t pick up she may not last. Watching the rugged widowed rancher serenade his baby boy plucks at her heartstrings, making her long for something she’ll never have. But as long as Garrett keeps one cowboy boot in the past, they don’t stand a chance of building a future together. Do they?
“I don’t know what I’d ever do if I lost you.”
The moment the words spilled from Garrett’s lips, he knew. Knew their friendship had grown far beyond the bounds Lisa had set for them. He leaned down, searching her face. The flicker of awareness he saw in her dark eyes gave him just what he was looking for.
Heaven help him, he had to kiss her. He bent and put his heart into it. He wanted more, but refused to rush, refused to take more than she was willing to give. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, a groan rose in his chest. Her lips parted and he swept in, possessing her. Her unique floral scent filled his senses. He drank it in, unable to get enough of her. At last, he traced the outline of her jaw with one thumb.
He stared down into her dark eyes. A bemused look filled her face.
“Now, what?” he whispered.
Dear Reader (#ulink_b8b3f66f-d0c7-5327-9835-a760b16e509d),
I’m thrilled we have the opportunity to return to the Circle P Ranch in The Rancher’s Lullaby, my fourth book in the Glades County Cowboys series.
I’m glad, too, for the chance to share Garrett and Lisa’s story with you. Nearly a year has passed since Garrett lost his wife when his son was born. The grieving widower has returned home to the Circle P where, surrounded by family, Garrett longs to make a fresh start as a single dad, a condition he vows to maintain. Not even bluegrass sensation Lisa Rose can change his mind.
But when Okeechobee’s newest resident plucks Garrett’s heartstrings as sweetly as she picks a banjo, will his love for her outweigh his fear that history will repeat itself? The Rancher’s Lullaby is a story of second chances and new beginnings for Garrett and Lisa, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Once again, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my cousin Paula Crews for sharing her love for a ranch where tall green grass stretches unbroken to the horizon and brilliant clouds of pink, purple and gold fill the morning and evening sky. Thanks, too, for the support of my Writers Camp pals Roxanne St. Claire, Kristen Painter and Lara Santiago. Their friendship has turned what could be a very lonely profession into one filled with camaraderie, encouragement and more than a few laughs.
Leigh Duncan
The Rancher’s
Lullaby
Leigh Duncan


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LEIGH DUNCAN, a bestselling author, writes books where home, family and community are key to the happy endings we all deserve. Married to the love of her life and mother of two wonderful young adults, Leigh lives on central Florida’s east coast. When she isn’t writing, Leigh loves curling up with a cup of coffee and a great book. She invites readers to follow @leighrduncan (https://twitter.com/leighrduncan) on Twitter, visit her Facebook page at LeighDuncanBooks (https://www.facebook.com/LeighDuncanBooks) or contact her through her website: leighduncan.com (http://leighduncan.com).
For Avery Blythe.
You light up the world.
Contents
Cover (#ue192c931-fba6-52b1-889a-4f6ba1dc5a71)
Back Cover Text (#u6a9e1ed6-8d34-50c3-b85b-a0c3bfbb474c)
Introduction (#u41ee5624-aa91-5e4d-88d4-9b3b1572904a)
Dear Reader (#ulink_f6e4f16a-6e53-5d08-b3d9-697a1109bb09)
Title Page (#u70f14660-4c8b-5986-a11b-edfedc970be5)
About the Author (#u4c965d74-8da5-5a7f-8d00-0646f221db3c)
Dedication (#u6857f2f6-a154-5c5c-a7c7-52f8a8e1d2be)
Chapter One (#ulink_95b1a02d-87df-5de3-be5a-c68a2d30a2ae)
Chapter Two (#ulink_f2891365-bd43-5489-bda5-8c5ce7259cf7)
Chapter Three (#ulink_e11a1239-33c0-5bfc-9115-01327fa2e864)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_2d54dc59-1b47-56bc-ba8c-33cff8f5a34c)
Warm air swaddled Lisa Rose as she stepped from Pickin’ Strings onto the sidewalk. She dropped the heavy key ring into her purse. The unfamiliar weight tugged uncomfortably on her shoulder. At the corner of Park and Parrott, she squinted into a sun so bright it sapped her energy and was slowly washing the color out of her favorite denim skirt. She frowned as her heel sank into the black asphalt when she stepped off the curb. In the month since her arrival in Okeechobee, she hadn’t gotten used to heat that turned pavement into a sticky mess by ten in the morning. She wasn’t sure she ever would. Not that it mattered, she thought with a shrug that sent the beads and chains around her neck jingling. Her stay in south Florida was only temporary. By this time next year, she’d have her act together again. Literally and figuratively. Till then, she supposed there were worse places to rebuild her shattered dreams than in a small town with a tree-lined square. Tugging her boot free, she kept moving forward.
On the other side of the main street, she straightened the pewter cuff at her wrist. She ran her free hand over the thick hair that, in a nod to August’s sweltering heat, she had braided before heading out this morning. She separated a bright yellow flyer from the stack in her shoulder bag.
“Put me onstage, and I’ll gladly step to the mic, but is this absolutely necessary?” she whispered. As a performer, she’d never cared whether the venue held fifty people or five thousand. But this—oh, how she hated hitting the bricks, shaking down every business in town. It smacked too much of the early days when she’d been so hungry for a chance—any chance—that she’d have sold her soul for a record deal. Back then, she’d gotten a break or two. Peddled her songs to stars who’d performed them at the Grand Ole Opry. But here she was. Thirty-two and on her own again, looking for a different kind of break.
She took a calming breath. There really was no other option. If she expected a good return on her investment when she sold the music store later this year, she had to get Pickin’ Strings on solid financial footing. Which meant drawing customers into the shop. Squaring her shoulders, she assembled the smile she’d worn in front of a thousand different audiences and stepped into The Clock Restaurant.
“Good morning! Table for two?” A perky teen glanced into the space behind Lisa as if she expected another person to materialize out of thin air.
“Just one,” Lisa managed before the arctic blast that poured out of overhead vents hit her face. In an instant, the moisture that clung to her skin evaporated. Goose bumps rose across her bare shoulders. She struggled to keep her smile in place while she cast an envious glance at the hostess’s snug white sweater. Locals carried jackets with them, even when the outside temperatures and humidity hovered near three digits. It was a practice she’d adopt—and soon. She shivered and asked, “Is the manager or owner available?”
“No, ma’am.” The young woman’s helpful expression dimmed. From a bin, she took a single set of silverware wrapped in a paper napkin. She paused, reluctance playing across her smooth features. “Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all. I’m new to the area and wanted to introduce myself.” Lisa relinquished her hold on the flyer. The girl was too young, too unsure of herself to be of any help. “Maybe you’ve seen my shop, Pickin’ Strings. It’s just up the street.”
“Can’t say as I have,” the hostess answered, turning. She hustled past one empty table after another. Finally, she plunked down the silverware at a booth near a set of swinging doors.
Lisa gave the less-than-desirable location a second glance. Across the aisle, a preschooler with dark curls dawdled over pancakes. An older woman seated at the table juggled a baby on one shoulder. Decked in blue from head-to-toe, the infant aimed a toothless grin her way, but Lisa averted her eyes. She brushed her fingers over her own all-too-flat tummy and slid onto her seat, her focus determinedly fixed beyond the window where traffic clogged the main thoroughfare.
“My name’s Genna. I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink, honey?” A waitress slid a plastic-coated menu onto the table.
“Coffee. With cream.” Lisa eyed the faded red uniform. She tugged a flyer from her purse. “If you could show this to the manager, I’d like to put it up in your window.”
The welcoming sparkle faded from Genna’s eyes. “I’d just be wasting your time and mine. Things are kind of dead ’round here till the snowbirds come back in November.” She gestured at the near-empty restaurant. “You might want to hang on to your ads till then.”
Lisa let the hand holding the paper slowly sink to the worn Formica tabletop as her idea of turning a quick profit on her investment took another hit. She’d heard some version of the same story everywhere she’d stopped this week. Though winter residents crowded the sidewalks and shopped the stores from November through March, most businesses barely took in enough to make their payroll during the rest of the year.
Disappointed, but not wanting to let it show, she summoned a cheery, “Well, thanks, anyway,” and pushed the menu aside. Eating out was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not until the music store produced a steady income.
She probably should have chosen a different location, a different town, but she’d taken one look at the empty storefront in the heart of Okeechobee and known it was the right place. She’d seen the stained ceiling tiles and threadbare carpet as a challenge to overcome and plunked down most of her available cash. Her creative juices stirring, she’d rolled up her sleeves and gone to work. But the place was in worse shape than she’d thought, and her savings account had issued a dying gasp as she stripped and painted dingy walls, replaced tired displays with new shelving and created a soundproof room off to one side. To stock the shelves with guitars and fiddles, mandolins and banjos, she’d been forced to borrow against her next royalty check. She’d crossed her fingers, hoping to turn a tidy profit at the grand opening.
She shook her head. Scheduling the event on the same weekend as a nearby rodeo had been her first mistake. She’d sold one—exactly one—inexpensive harmonica during a grand opening that wasn’t very grand. Since then, foot traffic had been abysmal. Which left an ad in the Okeechobee News as the only way to drum up business. She searched the bottom of her purse until she found a pen. Flipping the flyer over, she began sketching. The waitress had refilled her cup and the ad was nearly complete by the time Lisa heard the baby cry. Before she could stop it, her midsection clenched in a familiar way that had nothing to do with downing several cups of acidic coffee on an empty stomach.
“I have to gooooo,” the dark-haired cherub at the table across the aisle insisted.
Glancing up, Lisa spotted the woman in the booth uncapping a baby bottle. Tiny creases in sun-darkened skin deepened as the fussing infant in her arms lunged for it. “Can you hold on a while longer? Just until I give LJ his bottle?” she asked the girl. “I’ll take you as soon as he’s finished.”
“I have to go now, Gramma.” Squirming, the child shifted on her booster seat.
Apologetic blue eyes met Lisa’s inquisitive glance. “Sorry,” the woman mouthed.
“Oh, they don’t bother me,” Lisa lied. She gave herself bonus points for summoning a sympathetic “Looks like they keep you busy.”
Sighing, the grandmother tucked a strand of gray hair behind one ear. “I don’t know what possessed me, offering to bring both of them with me this morning. Guess I forgot what a handful two little ones can be.”
“I have to go-have-to-go-have-to-go.” The little girl clambered down from her seat and darted into the aisle.
“Bree Judd, you come back here this instant!” Panic flared across the grandmother’s face. She tugged the bottle from the baby’s mouth. Feet kicking, the boy sent up a protest.
The kid had a good set of lungs, Lisa thought as angry wails filled the restaurant. She clenched her fists while she fought every tick of the second hand on a clock whose sole purpose was to remind her that she was running out of time.
At the other table, the grandmother popped the bottle back into the baby’s mouth. He instantly quieted. “Gramma” cast an anxious look over her shoulder, but Bree had rounded a corner and disappeared. Her arms weighted with the baby, the woman edged awkwardly toward the end of the bench seat.
“Hold on. I’ll get her.” Lisa slipped out of her booth. She slid the flyer with the ad onto her neighbor’s table. “I’m Lisa Rose,” she said before she took off across the restaurant after the little speedster. The door to the ladies’ room banged against the wall as Bree dashed inside. Lisa caught up and lingered near the sinks while the girl attended to business. Minutes later, a much calmer version of the child emerged from a stall.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” Lisa reminded Bree when she started for the door.
The child managed a perfect scowl. “I can’t reach.”
“Do you need help?” Lisa’s heart lurched when dark curls bounced as an elfin face aimed a trusting look her way.
“Mommy lifts me.” Bree retreated to the sink, where she waited to be held up.
“O-kay,” Lisa breathed, regretting the decision to get involved. She shoved her bracelets up her arms and, thankful for the strength that came from years of lugging sound equipment from one venue to another, hefted the headstrong waif to the sink without holding her close. It didn’t matter. Simply lifting the child loosed an old familiar ache that spread through her chest. She’d tried so hard to have a baby, and look what it had gotten her—a busted marriage and an empty womb. Would she ever have a little girl or boy of her own? She blinked aside a stray tear and hummed beneath her breath while Bree washed up.
“Ready to go back now?” she asked, handing the girl a paper towel from the dispenser mounted too high for little arms.
“Uh-huh.” Bree nodded.
Lisa lagged behind while the girl scooted back the way they’d come. By the time she reached their booths again, Bree had climbed back into her seat. “She helped me,” she announced, grabbing a cup with a plastic cover. “She’s nice and she has pretty bracelets.” She drank from the straw.
“Thanks.” A worried frown on the grandmother’s face dissolved. “I’m Doris Judd. I guess you’ve met my granddaughter, Bree. And this little one here—” she nodded at the baby who sucked vigorously on the near-empty bottle “—this one’s the newest member of the Judd family. We call him Little Judd. LJ, for short.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Seeing as Doris’s arms were full, Lisa didn’t bother shaking hands. “I’m Lisa Rose,” she repeated. “I’ve opened a music shop on Parrot. Have you heard of it...Pickin’ Strings?”
“Can’t say as I have, but...” Doris nudged the flyer with one elbow. “It says here you used to be in the band called ’Skeeter Creek. Not with them anymore?”
“No.” Lisa let a breath seep between her lips. “I got tired of spending eight months on the road each year. It was time I found someplace to call my own.” There was more to the story, of course, but little ears and complete strangers didn’t need to hear it.
“You were still with them when they played at the Barlowe place last spring?”
Lisa nodded. Usually an appearance like the ranchwarming would have faded into a blur of one-night gigs. By spring, though, her marriage had crashed and burned and, along with it, her hopes for a baby. Suddenly tired of everything about her life, she’d started looking for a place to hang her hat until she got back on her feet again. She’d landed in small-town Okeechobee.
Doris continued. “I was in Atlanta and missed it, but people around here are still talking about that party...and the music.”
Finished with his bottle, LJ’s eyes drifted closed. Doris shifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his back. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to travel the way you have. I’ve lived most of my life on the Circle P Ranch. My late husband, Seth, he managed the place. It’s a job that’s been handed down from father to son for four, going on five, generations.”
“Must be nice to have those kinds of roots.” Lisa gave the woman a smile she didn’t have to fake. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “People think being up onstage is all glitz and glamour. To be honest, it’s a hard life. But it’s the only one I’ve ever known...until now. I haven’t been here long, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of waking up in my own bed every day.” Or watching the sunlight filter through the same set of curtains each morning.
Still, waking up alone, doing everything on her own—it took some getting used to. Six months had passed before her bare ring finger felt natural without the thin gold band. The one she’d tossed into the first lake she’d come across after discovering Brad in bed with the band’s backup singer. In another six, waking up alone would feel normal, too.
Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, because Doris said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. Won’t you join us?”
“I wish I could. But I need to open the shop in a few minutes.” Despite the difference in their ages, something about Doris told Lisa they could be friends. “Some other time?”
A suntanned arm nudged the flyer again. “I see you’re holding bluegrass jams on Tuesday nights. That ought to draw a crowd.”
“You think?” Lisa brightened. “I was hoping to attract more customers with these flyers, but...” She let her voice trail off. But business wasn’t exactly booming.
“Tell you what. We have a good-size crew on the Circle P.” At Doris’s shoulder, LJ expelled a healthy burp. “Why don’t you come on out and have supper with us tomorrow? It’ll give you a chance to talk to some of the boys about coming into town Tuesday nights. Supper goes on the table at six sharp.”
More disappointed than she had a right to be, Lisa shook her head. “Sorry, but I don’t close the shop till six.”
“Come for dessert, then. It’s the least I can do to repay you for lassoing this little one and bringing her back to me.” Doris nodded to the child, who pushed bites of pancake through syrup. When Lisa wavered, she said, “You might as well say yes. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Lisa’s standard refusal died at the cheery look in Doris’s blue eyes. What was one evening? She certainly didn’t have anything better to do, and the prospect of making a new friend was too appealing to ignore. Especially since, by the time she closed Pickin’ Strings, freshened up a little and made the half-hour drive to the ranch, the children would certainly have gone to bed.
* * *
GARRETT JUDD SWERVED onto the long, empty stretch of highway. He bore down on the pedal, pushing the truck until it rattled and swayed. Barbed wire and fence posts sped by so fast they blurred into a seamless stream. The steering wheel pulled to one side as his tires hit a tiny dip in the road. Garrett held his breath.
Was this finally it?
Would they find his waterlogged body when they pulled his truck from the deep drainage ditch that ran alongside the roadway? He whistled through clenched teeth when the wheel straightened of its own accord. Swallowing bile, he slowed marginally for the turn into the Circle P Ranch.
A cloud of dust filled his rearview mirror as he flew down the graveled drive toward the main house. He eased his foot off the gas only when he neared a large dirt lot surrounded by riding pens, barns and outbuildings. Aware that a ranch hand could emerge from the barn at any second, Garrett mashed the brake. Dirt spewed from beneath the tires as the vehicle came to a shuddering stop in front of a sprawling cedar house. Throwing the truck into Park, he jumped from the front seat. He took the steps two at a time, barely registering the drop in temperature as he stepped onto the wide front porch.
Never locked, the doorknob turned easily in his grasp. Garrett swept his Stetson from his head and stepped across the threshold. He relaxed slightly when no one called to him from the leather couches that provided ample seating for both family and paying guests. Intending to grab a snack and disappear out the back door before anyone noted his presence, he hustled across the hardwood floors.
In the long hall that led to the kitchen, he pointedly studied his boot tips rather than the dozens of photographs that lined the walls. Not that it did any good. From the earliest images of his ancestors working the land and its cattle to the most recent photo of his brother Hank’s wedding, he knew every picture by heart. Some folks might have thought it odd that so many Judds were captured in the history of the Parker ranch, but ask anyone from either side and they’d say it was only natural. The two families had been intertwined ever since the first Parker hired the first Judd to manage the acres of flat land that stretched from one horizon to the other. Still, afraid he’d catch sight of his dad or see Arlene’s smiling face peering out at him from the photos, Garrett kept his eyes down, his focus averted.
“Garrett. If you’ve got a minute...”
Halfway to the kitchen and relative safety, he stumbled to a halt. He pivoted, his heart sinking as he spotted Ty Parker standing in an office doorway. All too aware that he’d gotten caught skulking through the house, Garrett straightened his six-foot-three-inch frame.
“Yeah?”
“The fall roundup is just around the corner. It’s time we made some plans for it.”
“What’s the rush?” Garrett hiked an eyebrow. The roundup wasn’t for nearly two months yet, and the ranch hands knew the drill. Hadn’t they been gathering the Parkers’ herd of prized Andalusian cattle every year as far back as anyone could remember? “I was on my way to get a bite to eat.”
“And disappear out the back door till everyone turns in?” The frown lines at the corners of Ty’s mouth deepened. “I’ve been trying to catch you for three days, but you’re always in a hurry to go someplace else.”
“What can I say?” Garrett shrugged. “There’s never much downtime on a spread the size of the Circle P.”
Maybe it had been easier when fence lines marked the end of the Circle P’s property at Little Lake. But Ty had expanded their holdings, adding another thousand acres and leasing several additional sections. Between that and opening many of the ranch’s activities to outsiders—tourists who paid good money for the privilege of playing cowboys for a week—the list of chores required to keep things running smoothly had more than doubled. Which wasn’t the only reason Garrett made himself scarce. It wasn’t even the main one but, as excuses went, it was the best he had to offer.
When Ty’s gaze continued to pin him to the wall, Garrett took a breath. He met Ty’s unwavering stare. “Sorry. Sure, Ty. What can I do for you?”
Unease trickled down his spine when Ty gestured him into the office. It deepened when the man who’d been his best friend ever since they were in diapers together closed the door behind them. Was he about to get fired? If so, he’d be the first Judd to get handed his walking papers in...well, forever. He swallowed and propped his Stetson on one knee as Ty took his place behind the scarred oak desk. For a moment, the owner shuffled papers. Staring up from them at last, Ty drummed his fingers on the desk.
“Everyone knows what an awful time this has been for you. We’re all glad you came back home from Atlanta after...” Sympathy swam in Ty’s eyes.
Garrett brushed a speck of dirt from his jeans. In the ten months since the funeral, he’d grown tired of the sympathetic looks, the understanding gestures. He waited while a thick silence filled the room. It dragged on until Ty cleared his throat.
“Even with your mom helping out, I don’t know how you’ve managed. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Sarah.” The owner’s gaze drifted to the door, where it lingered. “But no matter what you’re going through,” he said, his focus honing in, “I have a responsibility to our guests and employees. And I’m hearing things I don’t like much. That you’ve been hard on the men. That you’re takin’ chances. I know you well enough to know that’s not like you, so I have to ask...have you been drinking?”
“What?” Garrett shifted in his chair. He hadn’t gotten drunk, hadn’t even sipped enough rotgut to get a buzz. Not since the days immediately following Arlene’s funeral. At the thought of his late wife, though, the empty spot in the pit of his stomach burned. Garrett rubbed his fingers along the edge of his Stetson. “I might pour two fingers if I can’t sleep at night. But never at work. And never, ever, if I’m going to get behind the wheel.”
“Good to know.”
“As for the men, I don’t ride ’em any harder than I did my students.” Twice he’d been nominated for Teacher of the Year, but he’d lost interest in teaching high school while gravediggers were still shoveling dirt over his wife’s casket. “I thought you wanted to talk about the fall roundup,” he said, trying to shift the focus off him.
“Right, right. Just know that, if you need anything, someone to talk to—someone to yell at, even—I’m here for you. We all are. Your mom and your brothers, too.”
And how would that help? Ty and Sarah Parker had never experienced his kind of loss. Garrett prayed they never would. As for his mom, she and his dad had spent forty-plus years building memories together, while he and Arlene had their whole lives ahead of them when hers had been cut short. Too short. Two of his four brothers had found love, not lost it, during their stints as managers of the Circle P. That left the twins, Randy and Royce. But even if they hadn’t been in their twenties and too young to grasp the concept of losing a wife in childbirth, they were on the other side of the country—in Montana—till the first of the year.
A tightness he’d grown accustomed to worked its way across his chest. Deliberately Garrett took a breath. “Look, I’ve got Dad’s notes. I’ll go over ’em, and if I’ve got any questions, we can talk, but I really don’t expect any problems. There’s been a roundup on the Circle P since long before you and I were born. The men and I, we know the drill.”
“Things have changed now that we’ve got paying guests.” Ty leaned back in his chair. “It takes more time, preparation...everything. We can’t have too many people ridin’ herd on one cow, so we’re gonna have to break into groups. You’ll need to think about which ranch hands are responsible enough to take charge. And then there’s supplies. We have to lay in enough food and beverages, make sure the cooks know about any special dietary requirements and the like.”
Garrett let his brow furrow. “How many people are we talkin’ about?” When he was a kid, roundups had been family affairs involving the Parkers, the Judds and a few ranch hands. But Ty’s efforts to draw wannabe cowboys to the ranch had saved the Circle P from bankruptcy and turned it into a thriving concern.
Ty consulted his notes. “A family from New York—Jake and Melinda Brown and their two daughters, Carolyn and Krissy—signed on this morning. That brings us to thirty guests. That’s pretty much all we can handle. We’ll leave a skeleton crew here at the homestead. Everybody else—another thirty or more—will come on the trail with us.”
Garrett whistled. Taking sixty people on a week-long trek through the wilds of south Florida was a big undertaking. No wonder Ty was concerned. He set his hat on the chair beside him and leaned forward. “Anything in particular I should start workin’ on now?”
“Well, there’s the horses. It won’t do to put an inexperienced rider on, say, Ranger.” Ty’s stallion had a temperamental streak. “Our guests fill out a questionnaire when they register. I’ve got those right here...somewhere.” He thumbed through several stacks of paper before he found the right folder and handed it over.
Garrett scanned blanks filled in by a fifty-year-old stock broker from Boston with no riding experience whatsoever. “Shadow’ll be right for him,” he suggested.
With one guest down and twenty-nine to go, he brushed a shock of dark hair out of his eyes and settled down to work. Once each rider had been matched with the right mount, he and Ty coordinated the side trips and other events. A fishing expedition paved the way into a fish fry. Ty added steak to the menu on the night of the posthole digging competition. He scratched chicken off the list the day a group went bird-watching in the ’Glades. They were still at it when a knock at the door interrupted them.
“Come in,” Ty called.
Garrett took advantage of the break to glance at the clock on the wall. He blinked in sudden awareness that two hours had passed since he’d been shanghaied into the owner’s office. Guilt clawed at him for going so long without giving his late wife a single thought.
“Ty, I have the bills and receipts from today’s trip into town.” Stepping into the office, Doris handed a sheaf of papers to the owner. Her forehead creased as she spotted Garrett, and she folded her arms across a wrinkled shirt that sported a damp, whitish spot on one shoulder. “I was just getting ready to feed LJ his supper. Unless you want to do it?”
As hard as he tried, Garrett couldn’t entirely ignore the signs of fatigue etched into his mother’s face. Her pale blue eyes had taken on a watery look in the months since Arlene’s death. Yellow tinged the strands of once-white hair that, these days, often escaped her signature braid. Well past retirement age, she had no business serving as a full-time mom to his little boy, even if she had raised five sons of her own. But the alternative—holding LJ, playing with him, feeding him and changing his diaper—was more than Garrett could handle. He swallowed a wave of fresh guilt and said what he had to say. “We’re kinda busy here, Mom.”
“I can see that.” Doris’s full lips thinned into a stern look that dredged up childhood memories of getting into trouble with his brothers. “Garrett...” she began.
“You want the office?” Ty offered. “We’re ’bout done. I can leave if you two need to talk.”
Doris hesitated a second longer. With a sigh, she said, “Don’t bother. I’m not going to stay long. I just wanted to let you know I met someone in town today. Lisa Rose. She used to sing with that group, ’Skeeter Creek.” Doris pulled a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. “I invited her to join us for dessert tomorrow night.”
The Circle P was so well known for its hospitality that Ty only took the yellow sheet Doris handed across and studied it. The tiny line between his eyes deepened when he finished. “I remember her from the party at the Barlowe place. Tall, slender, great voice. You say she’s moved to Okeechobee?” He scratched his head.
“She took over that empty space on Parrot. You remember the one?” At Ty’s nod, Doris continued. “I hear she’s spiffed up the place. Gave it a new name. Strummin’ Time.” She pushed a loose strand of hair off her face. “Something like that.”
Garrett scanned the paper Ty passed along. “Pickin’ Strings,” he corrected. He glanced at the photo of a fair-haired woman with angular cheekbones set in a heart-shaped face. A frown tugged at his lips. “She seems a little citified for our parts. Probably won’t stick around.”
“She’s a bluegrass singer,” his mother countered. “I’m sure she’ll fit in.”
Garrett took a second look at the image of a woman with long wavy hair and dark eyes. Whether the newcomer stayed or moved on was really no concern of his. Standing, he clamped his hat back on his head. “Let me have a chance to look over my notes about the roundup and I’ll catch you later, Ty. If you’ll excuse me now—” he nodded to his mom “—I have some chores to finish before supper.”
And as he had every night for the last ten months, he left his young son in his mother’s capable hands while he made himself scarce.
* * *
LISA’S SANDALS SLAPPED against the planks of the wooden porch. From somewhere nearby, night-blooming jasmine added its fragrance to a heady, sweet smell that drifted down from flower pots hung along the eaves. She sniffed, her head filling with images of islands and swaying palm trees. She stood for a minute while uncertainty tugged at her. Had she done the right thing by accepting an invitation from a complete stranger?
She glanced around, her unease fading. The Circle P looked like exactly what it claimed to be, a working ranch. A summer sunset reflected off an unpainted barn that had aged to a graceful gray. Sturdy pens and corrals spread out on either side of the large building like wings. On the porch, comfortable rockers and chairs invited people to stay and sit a while. Cedar logs and tall picture windows lent the ranch a sense of permanence that was so different from her own experiences she felt a little misty-eyed.
When she was a kid, she used to dream of living in a house like this one. Of playing Little League or having sleepovers. Instead, she’d climbed into an RV so loaded down with instruments and equipment there was barely room for her parents, brother, sisters and the dog. Crowded cheek-to-jowl, her family had spent months on the road, playing in an endless succession of one-night gigs and music festivals. She’d met Brad on one of those long tours. Their time together had been more of the same. So, no, permanence, wasn’t part of her vocabulary. She flicked her braid behind her and wondered if, now that she’d moved to Okeechobee, it could be.
Not at all certain that was what she wanted, she rapped on the front door. She’d barely had a chance to count out four beats when a slim redhead answered. “You must be Lisa Rose. Doris said you were coming. I’m Sarah Parker. Welcome to the Circle P.” The pert hostess pulled the door wider.
“You have a beautiful place,” Lisa said, meaning every word. She gestured toward the hanging pots. “Someone has a green thumb.”
“Don’t they smell divine?” Sarah’s smile deepened. “We raise plumeria and orchids in the greenhouse. It’s a side business I started soon after Ty and I got married. Now we ship all over the country.”
Lisa held out a plate she’d wrapped in plastic. “I’m not much of a gardener. Or a cook.” Boiling water was the extent of her culinary skills. “I picked these up from the bakery near Pickin’ Strings. I hope they’re all right.”
Sarah studied the small mountain of cookies. “Oh, my favorites. Oops.” She clamped a hand over her mouth as equal parts humor and concern danced in a pair of hazel eyes. “Better not let any of our cooks hear me say that.”
“It’ll be our secret,” Lisa said, warming to the woman who pushed past her outstretched hand to wrap her in a light embrace. She caught a slightly deeper fragrance of tropical flowers before the slim figure withdrew, carrying both the scent and the plate with her.
“Come on in,” Sarah said. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the family.” Leaving the cookies on a nearby table, Sarah led the way across polished cedar floors to a pair of comfortable-looking leather couches that flanked a massive stone fireplace.
“Lisa, this is my husband Ty Parker,” Sarah said as the group seated in the chairs stood.
Reading a warm welcome in the dark eyes of the man with sandy hair, Lisa smiled in return. “Thank you so much for letting me come tonight.”
“We’re glad to have you.” Tiny crows’ feet at the corners of Ty’s eyes deepened as he prodded the young boy at his side forward. “This is Jimmy. Say hello, son.”
“Hi!” The freckle-faced kid aimed a toothy grin her way. Somewhat awkwardly, he reached out. “Pleased to meet you.”
“What a handsome young man,” Lisa said as they shook hands.
When Jimmy’s cheeks reddened and he stepped back, Ty clapped a hand on the back of the man beside him. “Lisa, meet Garrett Judd, manager of the Circle P. It was his mom you spoke with in town yesterday.” He turned to the taller man. “Where is Doris?”
Garrett’s lips thinned. “She’ll be down in a minute,” he all but growled.
“Hi,” Lisa said, and gave herself points for keeping her bright smile in place despite the man’s dark look. “You must be Bree’s dad. She’s a sweetie.”
Garrett’s scowl only deepened. “Bree’s my niece. My brother Colt’s daughter.”
“Oh.” Lisa searched the other faces in the room for clues to the reason for this man’s curtness, but Jimmy had Sarah’s attention, while Ty only gave the manager a bland stare. She pressed forward. “And LJ?”
“He’s mine,” Garrett announced plainly.
Lisa tried to ignore the longing that stirred whenever the conversation turned to babies. “He’s adorable. But I’m sure you and your wife hear that all the time.”
Like an awkwardly constructed song, silence stretched out for several beats before Garrett stuck out his hand. No warm hugs from him, Lisa thought. The guy had attitude written all over him. Which didn’t keep her from appreciating the thick black hair that drifted onto his forehead, the clean lines of a square face, or the fact that, even at five-ten, she had to look up to meet his blue eyes. Blue eyes that pinned her with an icy stare.
She swallowed as her palm met his. A single pump and Garrett broke the contact, making her wonder why the long fingers and rough calluses of such an obvious grouch sent a prickle of awareness up her arm.
Jimmy broke the tension that swirled through the room by tugging on his dad’s shirt sleeve. “Can I go say goodnight to Niceta now?”
Glad for the excuse to look away from Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding, Lisa turned her attention to the boy. “Niceta? That’s a pretty name.”
“She’s my horse,” Jimmy said, his chest puffing out the tiniest bit. “I’m raising her all by myself. Aren’t I, Dad?”
“Maybe with a little help from time to time.” Ty gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Have you finished your homework? Brushed your teeth?” When his son nodded, he continued, “All right, but don’t dawdle. You have school tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t.” Jimmy ran out the door with the exuberance that only a young boy could muster.
“School?” Lisa frowned. She’d need to move forward with her plans to offer music lessons if the local schools were in session already. “They start before Labor Day down here?”
Sarah stepped in. “Mid-August.”
“Because of hurricane season,” Ty added. “If we get a big one, the kids are likely to miss a week of class. Maybe longer.”
“But not this year, right?” Sarah leaned down to rap on the wooden coffee table. Rising, she met Lisa’s eyes. “You don’t have children?”
“No,” Lisa said, unable to mask a wistful look. “We tried—well, everything—before my husband and I separated.” She summoned a hopeful smile. “Maybe one day.”
“I give thanks for Jimmy and our foster children, Chris and Tim.” Sarah cleared her throat and looked at her husband. “Speaking of which, don’t you think you ought to keep Jimmy company, Ty? Otherwise, you know he’ll be out there all night.”
“What can I say?” Ty shrugged, looking only slightly abashed. “He’s a Parker. He loves horses. We all do.” He grabbed a cowboy hat from a peg near the entry. “Lisa, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a bit.”
The door barely clicked shut behind him before footsteps on the balcony overlooking the great room drew Lisa’s attention. She stared in dismay as Doris emerged from a room carrying LJ. Her plans to arrive long after the baby was down for the night in shambles, Lisa stifled a groan.
“You’re here! I’m so glad you came.” Doris hurried down the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other hugging her grandson. She reached the bottom step and made a beeline for her son. “Here, hold him for a minute,” she said, thrusting the boy into Garrett’s hands.
Two seconds later, with Doris’s fleshy arms enveloping her, Lisa wondered how long it would take to adjust to the Southern habit of exchanging hugs instead of handshakes.
Stepping back, Garrett’s mother surveyed the group. “I see you’ve met everyone. Did anyone offer you something to drink? Iced tea or coffee? Something stronger?”
Lisa swept a glance at the collection of coffee cups and tall glasses on the low table between the couches. “An iced tea would be nice.”
“I’ll get it,” Garrett said abruptly.
Dangling from his father’s stiff arms, the baby kicked pajama-clad feet. The urge to cradle the little one against her chest surged within Lisa, but the boy’s dad held his child as if he was afraid he might get a bit of drool on the cowboy shirt that stretched tightly across an impressive chest. At length, he took a deep breath and leaned in just far enough to plant a single, graceless kiss on the baby’s smooth forehead. When LJ beamed wetly at him, Lisa swore something flickered in the man’s blue eyes. But instead of cuddling his young son, Garrett’s expression hardened until the muscles along his jaw pulsed. The baby twisted, the fabric of his pj’s slipping until it bunched around tiny shoulders. His little face crumpled.
Before LJ could cry, Garrett shoved the boy toward Doris. “Take him,” he said, his voice gruff.
Emotion deepened the lines on Doris’s face in the brief moment before she reached for the child. “C’mere, LJ,” she cooed at last. “That’s my sweetheart.”
Watching the interplay, Lisa fought to keep her own expression neutral, her confusion hidden. How could a father be so harsh with his own flesh and blood when she’d have given all the money she had—all the money she’d ever have—for a baby of her own?
Garrett’s boot heels clomped noisily across the wooden floor.
“You’ll have to excuse my son,” Doris whispered as she turned her back on the retreating figure. “He lost his wife soon after this little one was born.” She patted the plump bottom of the baby anchored to her ample hip. “Garrett, he’s still struggling.”
“Oh.” Powerless to stop it, Lisa let her mouth gape. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. Sympathy and shame lanced through her. “I had no idea. I never would have said...” Or thought. Her voice faded into nothingness.
“How could you know?” Sarah asked. “We’ve been walking on eggshells around him ever since, but even we say things that dredge up the past.”
Doris swiped at her eyes. “I’m just going to tuck LJ in, and I’ll be back.” A shuddery breath eased out of her. “Then, you can tell us all about yourself.”
Left alone with the owner’s wife, Lisa cast about for a topic far away from babies and their fathers. At last she pointed to a guitar that hung from a soft leather strap on the wall. “Who plays?” she asked.
“Ty used to strum a little.” Sarah sank onto the couch. She picked up a napkin from the coffee table and slid it under one of the glasses. A soft smile played about her lips. “He was sitting at the campfire, playing a song when I first realized I’d fallen for him.”
Lisa nodded. That ability to reach people on an emotional level was one of the things she liked best about performing.
Sarah blinked, and the dreamy look faded from her face. “Garrett, he plays some, too.”
But talking about the tall, wounded rancher was exactly what Lisa didn’t want to do. Abandoning the guitar, she wove her way through an eclectic mix of chairs and couches toward a banjo on the opposite side of the fireplace. “It’s not often you find one with a calfskin head,” she said, eyeing the round bottom half. “These days, most people use synthetic because it lasts longer. Do you mind?”
At Sarah’s acquiescent shrug, Lisa lifted the instrument from the wall. She took a minute to admire the mother-of-pearl inlays and gold-plated hardware, but frowned at the smudge marks her fingers left on the dust-covered fingerboard. A muted thump echoed through the room when she tapped the skin. She plucked the strings, her dissatisfaction deepening with each sour note. The banjo was badly out of tune, the head stretched, possibly beyond repair.
“I see you found my husband’s banjo. Do you pick?” Doris asked on her way down the stairs. From somewhere in the house, the baby wailed.
Despite LJ’s cries, Lisa caught the faint hope in the woman’s voice. “I’m a fair hand,” she answered the same way Tiger Woods might admit he played a little golf.
“I haven’t heard anyone pluck those old strings since...” Doris plopped onto one of the couches, a faraway look filling her pale eyes. She snapped back quickly. “Of my five boys, Hank’s the only one who took up the banjo. He can manage simple tunes, but he hasn’t had much free time since he and Kelly took over the Bar X.”
“That’s a mighty fine instrument to let collect dust.” Lisa brushed her fingers down the rosewood neck. “I can take it into my shop if you’d like. Tighten the head or replace it, if need be. A new set of strings will make a world of difference.”
“It’s fine just the way it is.” Returning from the kitchen carrying a glass of tea, Garrett’s long strides quickly ate up the space between them. Grasping the banjo, he stepped so close Lisa caught the faintest whiff of aftershave mixed with the not unpleasant smell of a man who’d spent a large part of his day outdoors.
Lisa eyed the strong, male fingers that clutched the instrument. Getting into a tug of war with Garrett was not where she wanted to go this evening. Even as Doris asked her to play a tune, she relinquished her grip.
“There’s no such thing as playing a banjo softly,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t want to disturb the baby.” Not that it mattered. From the sound of his cries, it’d be a long time before LJ settled down for the night.
But Doris’s crestfallen look stirred a desire to offer up a compromise. Daring him to argue, Lisa hiked a brow at Garrett. “They say you play the guitar. Do you know ‘Angels Rock Me to Sleep’?” The old standard was a favorite with most novices.
The man had the audacity to grunt before, acting as if he was marching to the guillotine, he traded the banjo for the guitar. The moment he strummed the strings, though, his demeanor shifted. He leaned in, focusing on the music, the tension and anger literally melting from his face.
She’d definitely had worse accompaniment, Lisa thought as she sang the uncomplicated melody. Calling on long-honed skills, she compensated whenever Garrett skipped a note or ran into a timing issue. As they ended the song, she smiled at him. Her breath caught as something shifted in his blue eyes in the instant before he looked away. She coughed, hoping to dislodge an unwanted reaction to the brusque cowboy. Despite her efforts, sensations she hadn’t felt in far too long shot through her, and she straightened.
“Imagine that.” Doris’s awed voice whispered into the quiet that filled the room as the last notes faded. “Sounds like LJ drifted off. He never goes to sleep that easy.”
“That was lovely, just lovely,” Sarah added from her perch on the arm of one of the couches. She glanced at the doorway, where Ty and Jimmy stood. A knowing look passed between the owners of the ranch before Sarah said, “I think she’ll be perfect for the roundup, don’t you?”
Lisa tugged her braid over one shoulder and ran her fingers through the ends. “What roundup?” she asked. And what does it have to do with me?
Ty crossed the room to his wife’s side. “People from all over the country come to the Circle P’s annual fall roundup. Each evening, after supper, we usually provide some kind of entertainment. We thought you might like the job.”
Garrett shot Ty a challenging glance. “What’s wrong with sitting around the campfire, swapping stories and singing songs like we’ve always done?”
Across the room, Doris’s lips pursed. “Someone would have to lead the group. None of the ranch hands are particularly talented. Ty’s too busy. And you haven’t touched a guitar in—” her voice faltered “—in nearly a year.”
In an admission of guilt, Garrett slumped in his chair. “Seems to me you could find someone local,” he muttered.
“Lisa here is local,” Ty pointed out.
Clearly unhappy with the owner’s choice, Garrett gave him a pointed look. “What about Dickey Gayner? He’s pretty good.”
“That kid who plays at Cowboys?” Ty’s forehead wrinkled.
“Yeah, him.”
Doris broke in again. “Word around town yesterday was Dickey landed a gig that’ll keep him on the road till Christmas.”
A tiny grin worked its way onto Sarah’s lips. “I bet hearts were breaking all over Okeechobee at that news.” She turned to Lisa and added, “Dickey’s been the cause of more than one dust-up at Cowboys on Saturday nights. Fancies himself a ladies’ man.”
Ty squared around to face Lisa. “I know you have the shop to consider, but you could stay in town during the day and join us at night.”
“That sounds like a pretty good deal, but I don’t think...” Lisa began.
“We’re willing to pay a fair price,” the owner insisted. He tossed out a figure.
Lisa blinked. The amount was more than she’d expected and would definitely help keep her store afloat until business improved. “I can bring my banjo and pick a little.” She tapped her finger against her lips, considering. “I’d still need someone else to back me up on guitar.”
“What about Garrett?” Sarah suggested.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lisa swallowed. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Sure,” Doris chimed in. “Garrett would be perfect for the job.”
Lisa swung an appraising look at the cowboy who so clearly resented her presence. “You could do it...with some practice.”
The man uttered something unintelligible as he rose from his seat. He strode across the room to the fireplace, where he hung the guitar back on its peg. Leaning one shoulder against the rock wall, he announced, “I don’t have time. Taking care of the Circle P is a full-time job. Add all the stuff I have to do to get ready for the roundup, and I don’t have a free minute.”
Ty gave him a pensive stare. “That’s true, but you said yourself the ranch hands already know what to do. Besides,” he said, his voice deepening, “this is all part of the job you signed on for when you agreed to manage the ranch.”
Though Garrett gave his boss a hard stare, the matter was settled. Minutes later, as they hashed out the final details over coconut cake, Lisa glanced across the table to find Garrett’s gaze focused on her. The dessert turned to dry crumbs in her mouth, and she swallowed, suddenly wondering if spending any time with the rancher was worth the cost, no matter how good it was for her business.
Chapter Two (#ulink_269963ab-deb0-5bb7-8618-e2ea7242eea8)
“Get on, now.” Garrett swung his rope. A six-hundred-pound heifer could cover ground pretty quick when she wanted. This one did and joined the rest of the small herd he and the men were moving to the east pasture. Garrett frowned when two more of the prized Andalusians broke from the pack, determined to head back the way they’d come. A shrill whistle cut through the heavy air as one of the ranch hands signaled the crew of motley cattle dogs to head off the runaways.
“Stupid cows.” Dwayne swore, reining his horse in beside Garrett’s.
“Aw, they’re not the dumbest animals in the kingdom,” Garrett pointed out. “Opossums, now they’re stupid. Always trying to cross the road. Always endin’ up just plain dead.”
“Makes a body wonder how there can be any of ’em left.” Dwayne grinned, his impressive buck teeth shining white in the morning sun. The young man touched his heels to his horse’s sides and moseyed after the cows.
Another bead of sweat rolled down Garrett’s back. Even heavier than the oppressive heat and humidity, responsibility for the ranch pressed down on his shoulders. Managing the Circle P was good work, honest work, a tradition that had been passed from father to son for four generations. As the oldest of Doris and Seth’s five boys, he should have stepped into the role when his dad died. At the time, though, Garrett had been teaching in Atlanta. With a career he enjoyed, a woman he loved and a son on the way, he’d planned to stay there forever. Randy and Royce had offered to take over in his stead once they finished up their obligations in Montana. Till that happened, first Colt and then Hank had spent time managing the ranch. Now, that Garrett’s plans for the future had fallen apart, it was his turn. Eventually, though, the twins would make good on their promise to come home, and he’d have to go...somewhere. Do...something.
Where or what, now, those were two very good questions. There’d been a time when he’d made his livelihood bustin’ broncs in the rodeo. He’d set aside his dreams of gold buckles and big purses so he and Arlene could teach school when they’d gotten serious about one another. But rodeoin’ was a young man’s game, and at thirty-six, he was too old for it. Teaching—that was out, too. Expecting to see his wife’s face every time he’d walked into the teacher’s lounge or passed the classroom that used to be hers, he’d barely made it through the end of the term.
He tipped his Stetson and gazed at the sky. The brilliant blue overhead gave way to low, gray clouds on the distant horizon, and he couldn’t help wondering if his future was just as dark. Nearly a year after losing Arlene, he couldn’t get through the day without striking out at the unfairness of it all. Without wishing it had been him, not her, who’d been taken. Everyone—his mom, his brothers, Ty—they all wanted him to rise above the heaviness he carried in his heart. He wanted that, too. Wanted to be a father to his son. Wanted to feel something besides an ever-present sense of meh. But lately, the only times he’d felt alive at all had been when he was riding so close to the edge that the slightest wrong move would send him spiraling into hell and gone.
His horse, Gold, shook his head and blew air. The motion de-railed Garrett’s black thoughts. He gave the sky another look and resettled his hat. A predicted storm front would move in overnight. Not that rain in south Florida in the summer should come as a big surprise to anyone. No, the only surprise would be if it didn’t pour. But this storm had all the makings of a real beaut. Early or not, he wanted the men out of the pasture, their horses in the barn before the first drops fell.
“Let’s step it up,” he called to the riders. “We’ll move these cattle and call it a day.”
“Hey-up. Hey-up.” With the promise of a free afternoon in the offing, the men urged their horses to pick up the pace. The cow dogs followed suit. Dodging horns, their barks wilder and more frequent, the well-trained curs darted between hooves, nipped at heels and generally made such a nuisance of themselves that the cattle broke into a trot just to get away from them.
Twenty sweat-soaked minutes later, Garrett mopped his brow with his bandana while the rest of the hands herded the cows through the open gate and onto fresh grass. He swigged water from his canteen as a jangle of tack and the creak of leather announced another rider’s approach. Recapping the bottle, Garrett cut a glance at a young cowhand.
“What’cha need?” he asked the boy who, according to all reports, had shown more interest in birds than cattle.
“Thought I might head over and batten down the solar array on the west pasture.” Josh tugged on the brim of a sweat-stained Stetson. “In case we get some wind tonight.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Why? You think it’s gonna be a problem?” The solar arrays were sturdy things, built to withstand the weather.
The boy lifted a shoulder. “I was working on it yesterday. I might’ve forgot to put the tie-downs back on.”
Garrett lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You might have forgot? Or you did?” He had to be sure before he authorized the ride across six hundred acres of prime grazing land.
Josh averted his eyes. “A pair of wood storks wandered past just as I was finishing up. I might’ve been a bit distracted. But I’d hate for the array to get damaged on my account. Those things are darn expensive, aren’t they?”
“You got that right.” Cement ponds with solar-powered pumps to keep the water flowing meant less pollution than old-fashioned watering holes. So, even though every rancher in south Florida complained about the cost, they’d all installed one or two.
A light tug on Gold’s reins brought the buckskin quarter horse to a prancing stop. Garrett sifted the stallion’s mane while he took another look at the distant clouds. If he let the horse run, they’d make it across the section and back before dinner, but he’d probably have to skip the practice jam at Pickin’ Strings tonight. He shrugged. He was okay with that. The tall, willowy new owner might have a voice like an angel’s and curves in all the right places, but it still rankled that Ty and his mom had made him promise to work with her.
His decision made, Garrett reined his horse to the left. “You go on with the others,” he told Josh. “I’ll take care of the array and see you later, at the house.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Garrett? I’m the one what messed up.”
“You just head on back to the barn with all the others. But Josh?” Thinking of his recent conversation with Ty, Garrett softened the harsh look he aimed at the young cowhand. “Next time, mind that you finish the job before you go off birdwatchin’.”
Josh tipped the brim of his hat with one hand. “Yessir.” He slapped his reins against his mount’s neck and moved off in the opposite direction.
“Wanna fly, boy?” Garrett whispered to the horse who was born to run. The instant his heels touched Gold’s flanks, the stallion broke into a brisk lope that sent a sweat-drying breeze straight into Garrett’s face. He anchored his Stetson and kept moving, not slowing until they arrived at the solar panels, where several quick turns with his wrench tightened the critical tie-downs.
Mounting up again, Garrett eyed the storm clouds scuttling across the sky. A shortcut across the fields might get them to the barn before the rain if he hurried. He loosened the reins and let Gold have his head. The horse surged forward.
Powerful muscles churned beneath Garrett. He shushed the voice that said he should slow down. That all it would take to send him flying was for Gold to stick one hoof in a snake den. If they fell at this speed, he’d be lucky if he didn’t break his neck. Or Gold’s. Still, exhilarated by the speed and, yes, by the danger, Garrett didn’t try to slow the horse when they reached the first fence. Instead, he goaded the buckskin into taking the leap over the three strands of barbed wire. Wire that, given half a chance, would cut man and horse to ribbons.
Gold’s hooves cleared the top line by a good two feet.
Encouraged, Garrett leaned down until his chest nearly pressed against the horse’s neck. At the signal for more speed, Gold moved faster, his mane flying back, hooves pounding the dense grass. The horse grunted, his breath thunderous. Lather foamed along his neck. Wind plastered Garrett’s shirt against his arms.
They were skirting around a stand of trees when Garrett spotted the next fence. He cursed, aware that he’d been watching for downed limbs and exposed roots when he should have been on the lookout for wire and posts. They were coming up on this one too fast for a jump, and he tugged the reins to the side, turning. Relief sent prickles down his arms when the horse’s path shifted parallel to the barbed wire.
And damn, if he hadn’t ridden Gold straight into trouble. A corner post stood dead ahead, wicked barbed wire strands stretching in either direction as far as he could see.
“Whoa, boy, whoa!” He hauled back on the reins, his heart sinking.
Fence lines raced toward them even as the stallion’s muscles bunched and his powerful front legs locked. Time slowed until seconds lasted hours, though Garrett knew everything was happening very quickly. His butt lifted out of the saddle. His feet cleared the stirrups. The horse’s hind legs came up. Gold kicked and, still moving at a good clip, slid into the fence. Wire bit into the buckskin’s chest. The horse screamed. Garrett tucked himself into a ball and prayed for a soft landing. The ground rushed at him. He hit and hit hard. His breath whooshed out of him.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t summon enough strength to roll out of the way before a thousand pounds of bleeding horseflesh either sailed over the fence on top of him or tore straight through it, trailing wire.
He could listen, though. Listen to Gold straining to free himself. Listen to the horse’s screams. Hear his own heart thudding against his chest.
With the horse pressed against it, wire stretched. Posts creaked ominously. A sharp ping sounded as a nail straightened. It sailed past Garrett’s left ear. Hooves scrambled to find purchase in the thick grass. Dirt clods flew.
This is it. Any second now, the fence will give way. Gold’ll come thundering down on top of me, and that’ll be the end.
Fear sent his thoughts skittering. Faces of the people he loved blinked in and out like neon signs. He saw LJ and felt the sharp pang of regret. He’d never cradle his young son in his arms again. Never teach the boy how to muck a stall or ride a horse. He wouldn’t be there to walk his child to school, see him in a cap and gown, stand beside him in a church while a woman dressed in white slowly walked up the aisle. He’d never be able to tell his son how much he was loved. Unable to lift a finger, Garrett clung to the image of his baby boy.
“Please, God,” he whispered. “Please.”
Another nail let loose. Gold stumbled forward a step. The fence posts on either side bent precariously.
Breathless, Garrett heaved himself onto one side and rolled. And rolled. He kept tumbling, side over side, until his chest unlocked. Sucking in air, he managed another couple of yards. He drew in a shallow breath and lay flat on his back, his arms flung out at his sides. For the next minute or so, he concentrated on drawing air in and shoving it out. When he could finally breathe without the sensation that each breath was his last, he spared a quick glance at the fence.
Wire hung in loose strands from splintered wooden posts. Gold stood about ten feet away, shaking his head and blowing air. Blood ran in rivulets down the horse’s wide chest and legs. Groaning, Garrett flexed his toes and could barely believe it when they moved. Wonder filled him at the discovery that his knees still bent in the right direction. Reasonably certain he hadn’t broken anything and more than a little perplexed about it, he slowly rose to his feet. The shoulder that had hit the ground first sent up a twinge, and he rubbed it. He glanced around, spotting his hat in the grass on the far side of the fence. He slipped under the lowest strand. A sharp barb snagged his shirt, ripping a long tear in the cloth.
“Jeez, Gold,” he exclaimed. The horse had to be in pain.
He whistled, but the buckskin only eyed him nervously, tail switching. One ear flicked forward.
“It’s all right,” Garrett said, forcing the tremble out of his voice. He eased to the horse’s side. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
He ran a hand down the stallion’s front legs, checking for breaks, contusions or profuse bleeding. Other than a few nicks just above one knee, there were far fewer gashes than he’d expected. No bumps that might indicate a break, either, he noted with relief. He threaded his fingers through the horse’s dark mane. Gold shivered beneath his touch.
“Hey, boy. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Moving slow and easy so as not to spook the understandably jumpy horse, he untied his canteen from the saddle and grabbed a spare bandana out of the bag strapped to the back jockey. After pouring a generous amount of water onto the rag, he gently grabbed Gold’s bridle.
“Shh, shh, boy,” he murmured when the horse shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to see what’s going on here.”
Garrett slipped his hand beneath the cheek piece and held tight while he dabbed at a series of evenly spaced gashes where the sharp spines of the barbed wire had broken through the horse’s thick hide. He sucked his teeth at a couple of wounds that looked deep enough to need stitches, but overall, the damage wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He ran a hand over Gold’s withers, amazed that they’d both escaped his foolish escapade relatively unscathed. As a final check, he walked Gold in a circle, watching for a limp or some other sign that the horse couldn’t make the three-mile journey home. He patted the buckskin’s neck.
“Thanks for not killing me, boy,” he whispered, his face pressed against Gold’s.
But wasn’t that what he’d wanted?
Slowly Garrett sank to his knees, the wind knocked out of him for the second time in the same day. What had he been thinking? He’d been in a dark, unhappy place ever since Arlene’s death. He winced, realizing he might have wished to join her a time or two. But he’d been wrong. So wrong.
His late wife had given her life to bring their son into the world. The son he’d all but ignored for ten months. How could he have practically thrown her gift away? It was up to him to honor her memory by being a father—a real dad—for their child. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. So far, he’d shied away from the baby, but starting today, he’d change. He’d forge a relationship with the boy.
After all, LJ was the only child he’d ever have. He might not know where he was headed or what he was going to do with the rest of his life, but he did know that much.
With Gold trailing behind him, he set off toward the ranch. It was just as well he was out of cell phone reach, he told himself. He had some thinking to do, and out here with the sun beating down mercilessly on his back was just the place to do it.
* * *
“THANKS FOR VISITING. If you have any trouble with those new strings, bring your fiddle in, and I’ll adjust them for you. Free of charge.”
Lisa handed the paper bag to the young man who’d wandered into the shop just as she was sitting down to lunch. Though he’d strummed every instrument on her shelves and taken her best mandolin into the soundproofed room for a tryout, he’d purchased only a single package of new strings. She smiled as widely as if he’d spent a small fortune. A customer was still a customer. And if this one didn’t reach down deep for a new top-of-the-line instrument today, he’d come back when he was ready. At least, that was the theory.
She swept a critical eye over the tidy little storefront as the bell over the door chimed with the departure of the afternoon’s lone visitor. The shelves gleamed with a fresh coat of linseed oil. She had dusted and tuned every instrument until they looked and sounded their best. Books and sheet music stood in neat rows on racks. Guitar straps hung from pegs. Beyond her windows, traffic moved in fits and starts, regulated by out-of-sync traffic lights at either end of the street. A steady stream of pedestrians hurried past. From the bulging white bags they carried when they passed by her window again, she knew they’d visited the bakery.
But none of them ducked into her shop. With nothing to do but kill time before the jam and her first practice with Garrett, she grabbed the lunch she’d stashed in the fridge in the back room. She’d just taken her first bite of her sandwich when the bell over the door jingled again. She glanced up from her perch behind the cash register. Her spine stiffened as a round man in a tight-fitting suit tugged a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He mopped his forehead with it.
What was her lawyer doing here?
She swallowed drily and lowered the sandwich to her plate, her appetite evaporating. “Clyde.” She nodded, standing. Her paper bag rustled as she shoved the rest of her lunch beneath the counter. “Good to see you. What brings you all the way to Okeechobee? Business with another client?”
She could only hope. Whatever had forced the attorney to make the two-hour drive inland from Fort Pierce had to be important. And probably bad news.
Clyde’s head bobbed as he spoke. “I figured, with your connections, you’d wind up in Nashville. This looks nice. Real nice.”
The attorney hadn’t shown up today just to congratulate her on a new business venture. Not when a phone call would have accomplished the same thing. Cutting her ties with friends she’d shared with her ex had been part of the reason she’d chosen this small south Florida town.
She sighed. Brad must have thrown another monkey wrench into their divorce proceedings. So far, he’d been dragging his feet at every juncture.
“If Brad wants more money...” Lisa deliberately steered her gaze away from the practically empty till. She was pretty sure Clyde knew her net worth down to the last penny. As part of the divorce process, he’d combed through her books and accounts before splitting everything right down the middle. According to Florida law, that was the norm in so-called amicable divorces. In her case, though, it meant she had given Brad half her savings while he gave her half his debts.
The sleeves of Clyde’s three-piece suit clung to his upper arms when he held up his hands. “No, no. That’s not it at all. Mr. Rose is perfectly happy with the financial end of things.”
“He ought to be,” she muttered. For the rest of her life, Brad would get his share of the royalties on the songs she’d written while they were married, even though he hadn’t contributed so much as a line or a chord to their creation. “What does he want?”
“Surprisingly, nothing. He’s signed his copy of the settlement decree. In fact, he’s asked the courts to move up the final hearing. He wants the divorce over and done with as soon as possible. That’s why I’m here—to get your signature so we can put an end to this and you can move forward with your life.”
“Now? Now he’s in a hurry?” Lisa tugged on the end of her braid. For the last six months, Brad had treated the divorce proceedings with his usual smug indifference and insisted she’d eventually come back to him. She should be happy he’d finally thrown in the towel, but she had to know why. “What’s the rush?”
“I heard he and Jessie have set a date,” Clyde answered without meeting her eyes. “Two weeks from Friday.”
So Brad and the backup singer had decided to tie the knot. Lisa stared out the window at the people who sped past, anxious to get out of the heat. She waited, but the expected rush of disappointment and pain never materialized. She supposed she’d known their marriage was doomed from the moment Brad had denied her pleas for another round of in vitro fertilization. Finding him in bed with Jessie had only brought things to a head. That still didn’t explain why, after dragging his feet for so long, her ex had decided to move forward. Lisa sifted through possible reasons until she stumbled on one that made her ill. She tilted her head. “Clyde, what do you know?”
“Nothing for certain,” the lawyer protested, though the red that crept up his neck and onto his face said he did.
“She’s pregnant?” Despite her efforts, Lisa’s voice rose.
On the other side of counter, Clyde’s color deepened to crimson. The man studied his toes. “Four months, according to Jessie’s Facebook page.”
Lisa’s stomach churned, and she swallowed bile. Her attorney had warned her away from social media until the divorce was final. Apparently Brad and Jessie hadn’t received the same message. She clutched the display case, her fingers leaving damp, sweaty prints on the glass. “Pregnant,” she whispered.
“Unexplained infertility” was the best diagnosis the doctors could offer her to explain five long years of trying, and failing, to get pregnant. When they suggested stress might be the culprit, she’d come off the road, spent a year writing songs and living a quiet life, but that hadn’t worked any better than the vile herbal tonics her sister, the health nut, had suggested. IVF had been her last hope. They’d tried one round. But in reality she was the only one trying by that point. Brad had given up months earlier, complaining that no child was worth the hell the hormones put her body through. Or the outrageous expense, though he hadn’t contributed one dime toward the cost. Tens of thousands of dollars later, all she’d had to show for her efforts were a busted marriage and a bucket of tears. Through it all, she’d clung to the faint hope that her body wasn’t to blame. That some day, some way, she’d be able to conceive.
But Jessie’s pregnancy changed things. It proved Brad wasn’t the one with the problem. And that—well, that left only her. She had to face the fact that she was barren. She’d never conceive, never give birth, never hold a baby of her own in her arms.
Sucker-punched by the news, Lisa doubled over. Every cubic inch of air seeped out of her. Slowly she sank onto the chair behind the counter. The room spun. She lowered her head to her knees.
“Lisa? Lisa? Are you all right?” Clyde asked. “I know the end of a marriage is never easy, but it’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?”
Not exactly. She waved a hand at him. “Give me a minute,” she whispered, blinking. The dam had burst, but she’d spent her whole life performing. She’d learned early on to hide emotional turmoil behind a stage presence. She rose on unsteady feet. “You have the paperwork?”
“You sure you feel up to this?” Concern showed in Clyde’s beefy face.
“Nothing’s changed, right? This is the agreement we already worked out?”
“Exactly the same.” He pulled an official-looking document from his briefcase. Lisa grabbed a pen from the cup beside the cash register. She scrawled her name in the blank marked with a red sticker and initialed all the places Clyde indicated. Sighing, she pushed the paperwork back across the glass to him.
“When do we go to court?” she asked as he carefully placed the thick stack of papers back inside a leather case. In order for the divorce to be final, she and Brad had to appear before a judge.
Clyde checked his watch. “Brad asked for a special hearing this afternoon at four.”
“Today?” Despite herself, she gasped. “I can’t go to Fort Pierce today.” Getting behind the wheel of a car while the implications of Jessie’s pregnancy were so fresh and raw—yeah, that definitely ranked in the top ten of bad ideas.
“Relax,” Clyde said. “As your legal representative, I’ll attend in your stead. Trust me. You’ll be a free woman by five o’clock this afternoon.”
Lisa swallowed. A free woman. But one who’d never, ever, have the one thing she wanted most in life. A baby.
Later, she wasn’t sure how she had managed to show Clyde out the door. She certainly didn’t remember locking it or turning the Open sign to Closed. She couldn’t recall heading up the stairs. She did, though. She even made it as far as her bed before her tears fell. As they soaked her pillow, she curled into a fetal position, cradling the stomach that would never swell with a baby, and cried.
Chapter Three (#ulink_d85c813f-68b1-5181-b68b-7950c3ad2fe2)
“Easy, boy. Easy,” Garrett murmured. He scratched the soft skin under Gold’s neck, wincing at the three lines of equally spaced cuts, one for each strand of barbed wire. “He gonna be okay, doc?” Though every cattleman knew his way around a needle and thread, he’d insisted on calling the vet to tend to the horse. Picking up the tab was the least he could do to make up for his foolishness.
Jim Jacobs smoothed thick salve over the last of the sutures. “Barring infection, this should heal up within a week or so. Don’t ride him till the stitches come out.” Jim replaced the cap on the tube. “You were lucky. I’ve seen worse. How’d you say it happened again?”
“Sheer stupidity on my part.” Garrett could have lied, could have said Gold wandered off while he was fixing the solar array. Could have gotten away with it since there was no one to dispute his version of the truth. “One minute, we were cutting across the pasture. The next, I’d ridden us straight into a corner. I went flying. Gold, he hit the barbed wire.”
Garrett shoved a hank of hair off his forehead. He could have died. Should have, if the truth were told. But he’d landed safely, the fence had held, and both he and the horse had walked away relatively unscathed. He couldn’t help but smile when a twinge shot down his arm as he rolled one shoulder. He’d been granted a new lease on life. And everything—even a painful shoulder—felt better than the dark cloud he’d been under for the past year.
“I’m surprised at you. You know to treat a good horse better than that.”
Garrett hung his head. No one knew better than he did how he’d been pushing the limits, pitting himself against the world. But those days were over. In that instant while he’d been lying there, listening to the wire stretch, hearing Gold scream and knowing—knowing—death was only seconds away, he’d realized he wanted to live. That he wanted to be a father to his son. He met his friend’s eyes as Jim handed him the tube of antibiotic. “It won’t happen again.”
“No, I don’t believe it will.” Jim nodded. “Rub that cream on the cuts three times a day.” The vet gathered the last of his tools and supplies into a large tackle box. “I’d best get moving. I want to be home before the storm hits.”
A steady breeze greeted them as the two men stepped from the barn. On their way to a pickup truck that had been outfitted as a mobile veterinary clinic, Garrett intercepted a feed pail that tipped end-over-end across the yard. The air carried a scent made up of equal parts rain, rich dirt and tropical flowers. He eyed the darkening clouds before his attention shifted when he heard someone call his name.
“Garrett?” His mom cut across the yard from the back of the house.
“Best see what she wants,” Garrett said as Jim slid into the cab’s front seat.
Jim touched his hat brim. “Call me at the first sign of fever or if Gold lames up.”
“Will do.” The pail swinging, Garrett headed in Doris’s direction. “Everything all right with LJ?” he asked when he was close enough that the wind didn’t steal the words right out of his mouth.
The lines in Doris’s face formed a wreath of smiles at the first mention of her grandson. “He’s down for the night.” She sighed. “He had a big afternoon, playing with Bree and Jimmy. Man, that child can laugh.” She wiped her eyes. “He reminds me so much of you at that age.”
Garrett rubbed his chest where a hard knot of disappointment had formed. “I was hoping to spend some time with him this evening. Maybe—” he paused, not quite certain what one did with a ten-month old “—maybe read him a story. Or something.”
Doris squinted up at him, her penetrating gaze nailing him in place while Garrett shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Oh, Garrett,” she whispered. She moved close enough to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Welcome back, son.”
With his free hand, Garrett snugged his mom to his chest. “It damn near took an act of God, and I’m still a work in progress, but yeah, I believe I am.” He rested his chin atop her head the way he’d been doing ever since a high school growth spurt left him towering over her. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for us these past months. I know it hasn’t been easy.” The lavender scent she wore filled the space between them. He breathed it in, smiling at the faint trace of baby talc.
Stepping back, Doris wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. “I knew you’d come around. There were times when I wondered, but I knew in my heart you’d turn the corner.”
Garrett stared toward the house, praying neither his mother or anyone else ever found out how close he’d come to throwing it all away. “You say LJ’s down for the night?” he asked, eager to put his newfound resolution to be a better dad into action.
“Out like a light. But there is something you could do for him. For me, actually.”
Garrett scanned the face that had aged five years in recent months and knew he’d do whatever it took to make it up to his mom. “Name it.”
“I thought, if you were heading into town, to the jam at Pickin’ Strings, maybe you could stop at the Winn-Dixie and pick up a case of LJ’s formula on your way.”
“I wasn’t planning on going tonight, Mom.” Garrett glanced at the cloud-covered sky, frustration stirring deep in his belly. He was pretty sure driving into town on a stormy night qualified as the kind of unnecessary risk he’d sworn to avoid.
Concern etched its way deeper into his mother’s features. “I ran down to the corner market this afternoon. Everyone must’ve had the same idea as I did and stocked up ’cause they’d run out of bread, milk and baby formula. I might have enough to get us through tomorrow, but if the roads get washed out...”
Garrett rocked the feed pail back and forth. Responsibility for his baby boy had to win out over his desire to play it safe. Besides, he told himself, the trip into town would let him give Lisa Rose the apology he owed her after his gruff manners the other night. “I’ll go,” he said quietly.
He glanced down at his grass-stained Wranglers. A shower and a change of clothes were definitely called for, but he could still make it into town and back in a couple of hours, even with quick trips to the grocery store and Pickin’ Strings. “Best get movin’ then,” he said, shortening his long strides on the way to the house so his mother could walk beside him. “What’s the latest from the weatherman?”
The tension on his mother’s face faded. “We’ll have rain off and on this evening. They say the worst of it may pass to the north of us.”
But whatever game the weatherman was playing, he’d missed the target. By the time Garrett rolled a cart loaded with the necessary supplies out of the grocery store, rain slanted down in near-blinding sheets. Thankful he’d pulled a waterproof duster from the closet before leaving the Circle P, he turned the windshield wipers to high. Water splashed under his tires as he headed out of the parking lot.
Certain the weather would keep people from attending the jam at Pickin’ Strings, he eased to the curb outside the shop. He stared at the darkened storefront, a vague sense of dissatisfaction rippling through his chest. When Lisa had walked into the ranch house, he hadn’t been prepared for the wave of desire that had hit him in his gut. He’d gotten so used to feeling nothing that the sensation had practically knocked him off his feet. As a result, he’d been harsh, come down harder on her than he should have. He’d hoped to make it up to her tonight, but it looked as though his attempt to make amends would have to wait. He put the truck in gear and gave the store a last look. A light blazed on in the back.
Was she open after all?
Rain beat a steady tattoo against the roof of the truck cab, all but drowning out his thoughts. He’d just plunged one boot into the fast running water at the curb when thunder rolled overhead like giant bowling balls. Moving swiftly, he sloshed through several inches of water to the door. He reached the awning, where rain sluiced off his coat while he knocked. The lights came on in the front of the shop almost immediately. He spotted a tall figure making her way past the counters.
Lightning struck somewhere close enough nearby to make him wish she’d hurry, but instead of rushing to the door, the shop owner stilled. Her eyes widened. Afraid she’d leave him standing on her doorstep all night, Garrett rapped sharply on the thick glass. Whatever spell had held Lisa in its grasp broke. She hurried toward him.
“Garrett?” she asked as if she didn’t quite believe he was standing in her shop while water ran in rivulets off his coat and thudded dully onto a carpeted floor mat.
“I was in town. Thought I’d drop by to let you know I wouldn’t make the jam or our practice session. I guess you figured that out.” He gestured toward a circle of empty chairs near the cash register.
“The jam?” Sooty lashes slowly moved up and down as she blinked. “I’d almost forgotten. That was tonight, wasn’t it?”
Garrett took a good, long look at the woman who’d exuded poise and confidence during her visit to the Circle P. Hair the color of straw trailed in damp tendrils over her slim shoulders. Her shirt was wrinkled, her feet bare. His gut tightened as he forced his eyes up again, this time to a face that bore all the signs of someone who’d spent the afternoon in tears. He didn’t know this woman well—hardly at all—but whatever demons she faced, a protective urge to slay them stirred in his chest. “Lisa?” He touched her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”
The words penetrated the fog that had enveloped her. She gave herself a little shake and straightened marginally.
“I must look a sight.” Lifting the masses of sun-kissed hair, she shoved them over one shoulder. “Everything just caught up with me this afternoon. The move. The store. Everything.” She pulled a section of hair forward, her fingers braiding the thick strands.
“It’s okay,” Garrett said quietly, though her answer didn’t explain the puffy eyelids or the red blotches on her cheeks. “It looks like no one else wanted to brave the weather.”
“No.” She flinched visibly when another bolt of lightning lit the room. On its heels, thunder boomed. The uneasy look came back into Lisa’s eyes. “Sorry,” she said, her fingers plaiting faster. “I don’t like storms much.”
“This one’s a doozy,” Garrett acknowledged. He wasn’t overly fond of torrential downpours himself, though the rancher in him appreciated what they did for the land. A heavy rain cleared the air of pollutants, thickened the grass that fed his cattle. The accompanying wind would shake all the dead leaves and palm fronds loose, nature’s way of giving herself a good housecleaning.
Staring over his shoulder, Lisa chewed her lip. “Lightning struck the stage once when I was a kid. Knocked my dad flat on his rear and shorted out all our equipment. I’ve been leery of it ever since.”
Garrett cleared his throat. He guessed she had good reason to be scared. Every season, the Circle P lost a cow or two when a billion volts arced toward the highest object on a flat field. The results weren’t pretty.
“I was just about to fix myself a cup of tea.” Staring out the window, Lisa hesitated. “As long as you’re here, would you like some? Or coffee?”
Garrett eyed the rain that pelted down so hard on the sidewalk that the droplets bounced. Going back outside held all the appeal of getting tossed in the mud by a buckin’ horse. Besides, Lisa looked as if she could use a shoulder to lean on. Figuring there was no harm in lending her his for a bit, he ventured, “I don’t mind staying till there’s a break in the weather.”

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