The Rancher's Lullaby (Glades County Cowboys) (5 page)

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.

* * *

“T
HANKS
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

“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.”

“You don’t?”

A wisp of desire curled low in his belly when she peered up at him, all vulnerability and soft feminine curves. The moment stretched out. How long had it been? Not since LJ was born, for sure. And most of a year before that. Thunder rattled the windows, and he looked away, breaking the connection. Lisa had offered shelter from the rain and a neighborly cup of coffee. He refused to read anything more into it. He glanced around, deliberately forcing himself to study improvements she’d made to the once vacant storefront.

“Coffee’d be good. How ’bout we start a pot?” he suggested as he shucked his duster and hung it on a coatrack by the door. “You can tell me what brought you to Okeechobee while we wait for it.”

“My story’s not all that extraordinary,” she began, leading the way to a small room at the back of the store. “I married the lead guitarist in our band, ’Skeeter Creek. When I found out he was cheating on me, I packed up and left.” She flipped the switch on a coffee maker and leaned against the counter. Her gaze drifted down. “The divorce became final today.”

Which explained the tears. His fists clenched, and he flexed his fingers as another protective urge washed over him. “Do you still love him?” he asked. The question was too personal, but he couldn’t help wanting to know the answer.

“No,” Lisa said with a soft sigh. “That ended a long time ago.”

More thunder rumbled. A gust of wind struck the building hard enough to make the walls creak in protest. The lights flickered. Something that looked an awful lot like panic flared in Lisa’s eyes.

Garrett stepped closer. “Hey now,” he murmured. “We’re plenty safe inside. But, you got any candles? If the power goes out, we might need ’em.”

“Behind you.” Lisa brushed past him. She tugged a drawer open and removed a fresh box of emergency candles. Garrett dug around in his pockets until he found a pack of matches. He set them on the counter just as the storm loosed another burst of lightning accompanied by a clap of thunder. The flash of light illuminated the fine hairs that curled around Lisa’s face. She squealed, and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms. He brought his hand around her back and pressed her close to his chest.

Questions smoldered in Lisa’s dark eyes. The wisp of desire he’d tried so hard to deny burst into flame. Even then, the first tentative glance of her lips against his came as a shock. One he instantly knew he had to repeat. With a low moan, he angled his head for a better taste of her.

With Lisa in his arms, his lips pressed against hers, he didn’t mind a bit when the lights went out in earnest. Or that, this time, they didn’t come back on.

* * *

C
OOL
AIR
FANNED
Lisa’s chest. She shifted, wondering where she’d left her night shirt, why she’d removed it. Nubby carpet chafed her hip and she froze, suddenly conscious of the hand on her bare breast. A man’s hand, she corrected. Garrett’s hand. She lay spooned in his arms on the floor of the music room.