The Rancher's Lullaby (Glades County Cowboys) Page 3

  “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.

&n
bsp; 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

  “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 G
arrett’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.”