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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?
