The Rancher's Lullaby (Glades County Cowboys) (8 page)

* * *

L
ISA
SCANNED
THE
circle of sparsely filled chairs. Four guitars, a banjo and a fiddle rested on the laps of the half-dozen players. The gathering wasn’t as large as she’d hoped for, but it was a respectable start. A better one than she’d had last week when a storm had kept all but Garrett from showing up.

On second thought, she reminded herself, that had turned out pretty well.

She cast a surreptitious look at the tall rancher who’d chosen a seat on the opposite side of the circle. The man was an enigma—at once cold and hot, tender and strong. Just thinking of the night they’d spent together stirred the strongest desire to do it again. Do everything again. Except, the minute he’d had the chance, Garrett had all too readily agreed to stay at arm’s length. And while his easy acquiescence should have made her happy, it had left her oddly unsettled and dissatisfied. She gave herself a shake. It was time to stop woolgathering. She had a jam to lead and, afterward, a practice session with Garrett. She flexed her fingers, picked up her guitar and strummed an opening chord.

“Carl.” She nodded to the grizzled older man three chairs down. “Why don’t you start us off.”

Carl plucked the strings on his fiddle. “‘Angeline the Baker,’” he announced once he had everyone’s attention. “In D.”

As the group’s leader, Lisa repeated the title and the key of the instrumental before she turned to the young man beside her. “Like this,” she said, demonstrating the fingering on her guitar’s neck. With her left hand, she strummed the strings with her pick.

She flashed Tommy an encouraging smile when the boy pressed the wrong strings to make the simplest of all chords. The kid had aspirations, she’d discovered while he browsed the store for his first guitar this afternoon. Trouble was, he knew next to nothing about music. Though she could have easily sold him the most expensive item in the shop—and another business owner might have—she’d steered Tommy away from the high-end Martins and helped him choose a model better suited for a beginner.

“You’ll get it.” She tried not to wince when inexperienced fingers struck another sour note. “It just takes practice and determination.” Lots of practice and determination, she admitted as she leaned in to show him the chord again.

It took three tries before he finally got it. When he did, Carl drew the bow across his fiddle strings and launched into an enthusiastic rendition of the old favorite. With Tommy struggling to keep up, the players reached the first break in the song. Carl nodded to Garrett, who finger-picked a short variation on his guitar while everyone else waited.

“Good,” Carl pronounced as Garrett hit a final note. The older man bounced his bow off the fiddle strings, and the group played through the next verse and chorus. Though he was nowhere near as accomplished as his brother, Hank took the next break on his banjo. One of the other guitarists did the same. At the start of the fourth round, Carl kicked out one foot, the move a signal that the song was drawing to a close.

His head bent over his guitar, a frown twisting his lips, Tommy strummed a few bars of the next verse in the silence that followed. The boy looked up, blinking. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Not a problem,” Lisa assured him. “We all made the same mistakes when we started out. Anytime you’re in a jam, keep an eye on the person who chose the song. They’ll usually give some kind of sign—a nod, a smile, a kick—when the last verse starts.”

“Yes, Ms. Rose.” Tommy’s color faded as quickly as it had risen.

“We’ll go around the circle like this.” Lisa spun her finger clockwise. “That means it’s your turn. Do you have a favorite?”

Panic spread across the boy’s face. “Is it okay to skip me?”

“Sure.” She smoothed the instrument strap across her shoulder. “Let’s play one Garrett and I will be singing on the roundup at the Circle P in a few weeks. How about ‘Old Joe Clark.’ In A.” She slid her capo onto the second fret and frowned. The key and a tricky chorus put the song far beyond Tommy’s ability.

“Let me see your guitar for a minute. I’ll switch it to open tuning,” she said, wanting the boy to feel included. While she made small talk with the other players, she adjusted the pegs, plucked a note or two, and then adjusted them some more before returning the instrument. “Don’t worry about the notes. Just strum in time with the music.”

Aware that Garrett waited for her signal, she caught his eye. “On four,” she said and counted out the lively pace.

The group managed the first verse nicely. At the chorus, though, the rancher and another guitar player lost their place. Lisa waited for the resulting cacophony to die down before she held up her hand.

“What?” Garrett dropped his pick hand to one knee.

“Let’s try it again. Like this.” Leaning over her own guitar, she played a slight variation on the old classic. Aware of Garrett’s eyes on her, she refused to give in to the heat that crawled up her back. She played the chorus a second time and asked, “You got it?”

“Uh-huh.” He huffed out a breath.

She studied his hands as he strummed the opening chord. When he lost the tempo the second time, she sighed, tempted to move on. But experience told her that it was better to correct a mistake before it became a bad habit. She gave her hair a quick tug and waved the group to a halt.

“Try it again,” she said, doggedly ignoring the stubborn set of the rancher’s jaw or the way his eyes had darkened.

This time, the group made it through the song without a mistake.

“There, that wasn’t so bad. Who’s next?” Lisa turned expectantly toward Hank, who stared at Garrett, a thoughtful look etched into his rugged features.

“I’ll pass,” Hank said slowly.

Music filled the room as they went around and around the circle. Though Tommy took up a lot of her time, Lisa did her best to hone in on Garrett whenever someone chose one of the numbers they’d play during the roundup. Finally she checked her watch. Surprised that three hours had passed, she lowered her guitar to her lap. “Let’s wrap it up with ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken?’” The song was a signature closer for bluegrass jams throughout the country.

Almost before the last notes faded away, Carl stood. “Good music. Good fun,” announced the man who’d barely said two words all evening. He loaded his fiddle into its case and left. Two of the guitar players stuck around long enough to promise they’d be back the following week before they, too, headed out the door. Reassured that Pickin’ Strings’s first jam had been a success, Lisa barely managed to collect her thoughts before Tommy tapped her arm.

“Ms. Rose, thanks for all the help and all. I’m sorry I didn’t play very good. Is it all right if I come next time?”

“Of course. Till then, you keep practicing those chords. You’ll get better and better.” She aimed a warm smile toward the gawky teen who’d probably realized that becoming the heartthrob of his generation was going to take a lot more work than he’d planned. Deliberately she set a manageable goal before the youngster. “Learn one song, only one, to lead in the next jam.”

His face brightening, Tommy scrubbed his free hand on his jeans. “You think I can?”

“I’m sure of it.” She would have said more, but a car pulled to the curb out front. A horn honked.

Tommy reached for his guitar. “That’s my ride,” he said and hurried away.

After watching him go, Lisa turned back to the store. She stilled, her focus drifting between the two men who lounged against the counter. With just one glimpse of all that dark hair and two pairs of identical blue eyes, anyone could tell Garrett and Hank were brothers. But where Hank’s chin slanted just the tiniest bit to the left and gave him a crooked smile, Garrett’s jaw and high cheekbones faced the world squarely. And though they’d both shown up in Wranglers, boots and shirts with Western piping, she couldn’t deny that Garrett’s looks stirred her on a deeper level.

She swallowed slowly as he downed a soda. When his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, she moved quickly to stem a rush of unwanted desire.

“Garrett, Hank.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. While she’d been saying goodbye to the rest of the group, the Judds had stowed the chairs and moved the display shelves back into place. “Thanks for cleaning up, but I thought we were going to practice some more.”

“Seemed like it was getting pretty late,” Garrett offered. “You were too busy gushin’ over the kid to notice.”

“I guess I have a soft spot for young musicians.” She’d always hoped her children would inherit her ear for music. Each month, when her dreams of having a baby had once more been crushed, the idea of eventually helping little hands plink out simple tunes on the piano, of little voices singing along with hers, had gotten her through some dark moments. Now that it looked as though she’d never have a child of her own, working with budding musicians was the next best thing, wasn’t it? She blinked at the realization that she could still pass all the knowledge she’d gained down to another generation. “Tommy is brand-new to music,” she said firmly. “He needs all the encouragement he can get.”

“That didn’t stop you from ridin’ my ass all night, did it?” Garrett shot back.

Maybe she had been firm with him, but she was only trying to help. The man had too much pride to settle for a mediocre performance during the roundup. Yet he obviously didn’t appreciate her pointing out his mistakes. That was something he’d have to get over if they were going to perform together. Certain she was just the person to teach him, she brushed a stray hair off her face.

“You are an accomplished player. You could be an even better one if you made a few changes.”

“Changes?” Garrett’s challenging gaze met hers. “What kind of changes?”

“Your wrist is too stiff.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said simply.

“But it is. The way you hold your hand, your fingers can’t stretch to make some of the notes. It’s why you struggled with ‘Old Joe Clark’ and some of the other tunes.”

Garrett’s blue eyes glittered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lisa let one hand linger on her hip. “Grab a chair. I’ll show you.”

Garrett turned to his brother. “You mind waiting?”

“Why not?” Hank’s mouth slanted to one side. He tapped his soda can against the counter. “It’s not like we have to get up with the roosters in the morning or anything.”

The remark earned him a long, malice-filled glare from Garrett while Lisa struggled to swallow a smile. At last, Hank dropped his Stetson onto the counter.

“Ya’ll go ahead.” Hank lifted his drink. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Garrett yanked a folding chair from the stack against the wall and shook it open. Rather than wait for him to get his instrument from its case, Lisa placed her own guitar in his hands.

“Play something for me,” she ordered.

Before he reached the end of the first stanza, she slipped behind him. Grasping Garrett’s left wrist, she dropped it slightly. The move gave his long fingers better access to the fret board.

“That feels...awkward,” he argued.

Lisa stilled. Cupping her fingers around Garrett’s large, strong hand stirred all sorts of memories of the music they’d made together that didn’t have anything to do with guitars. “Try a new chord now,” she said, unable to lift her voice above a low whisper. She backed away, putting some much needed distance between them.

A look of pure, priceless awe filled Garrett’s face when his fingers easily spanned the guitar’s neck. Knowing he’d read “I told you so” in her eyes, Lisa smothered a grin.

“You practice like that for a week,” she said, “and I guarantee you’ll never hold your guitar any other way.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed, pinning her with a laser-like beam. “Why do you care?”

Lisa hesitated only a second before she whispered an honest answer. “Because I want more from you. More than you think you can give.”

While she wondered whether he’d storm out of her shop and out of her life, Garrett sat still as a statue for a full minute. Finally he stood. He bent slightly, reverently placing her guitar back in her hands.

“Sounds like I’ve got a good bit to learn. What say, after I finish my chores and get LJ down at night, I start coming here so you can teach me what I need to know?”

Were they still talking about music? She wasn’t certain, but she nodded anyway.

Chapter Six

Garrett lunged for LJ. He missed. The baby scooted around one edge of the couch for the fourth time that morning. Laughing, his little arms and legs churning, the boy aimed for a small, red-draped table on the far side of the room. Garrett hauled himself to his feet and gave chase. He grabbed the little one around the middle, tossing him up in his arms.

“You, my friend, need to stay put,” he said, though he might as well have saved his breath. Unless he was trying to figure out how to escape his daddy’s clutches, LJ’s attention span was shorter than a gnat’s body. Playing with a ball had lasted all of five minutes. Building blocks had entertained the tyke another five. Garrett poked his son’s belly.

The little boy grinned a toothless grin and tooted. His face turned red. Beneath Garrett’s finger, the tiny belly hardened. The diaper muffled the wet, sloppy noise that came next. LJ giggled as a noxious odor filled the air. He twisted, struggling to get down.

“Hold on there, partner,” Garrett said. Gingerly, he shifted the baby in his arms. “No more playing till we change that diaper.” How many times would he have to do that today? He’d already made four treks up the stairs to LJ’s room, including one trip that required a complete change of every stitch both he and the kid wore. He shook his head. For one little guy, LJ generated a staggering amount of laundry. The supplies needed to keep him fed, diapered and clean required its own line item in the budget. To say nothing of the constant running up and down the stairs.

“Slacker,” he whispered to himself. LJ had already tuckered him out, and it was only ten in the morning. His mom had raised five boys. Not only that, but she’d put food on the table for the Circle P’s entire crew at 6:00 p.m. six nights a week for more than forty years. Wondering how she’d managed when he couldn’t even keep up with one little kid, he wiped his brow.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with.” He shifted LJ to maintain a firm grip on the wiggly body. Now, if only the mess in the boy’s pants wouldn’t leak before he got him on the changing table.

It didn’t and, mission accomplished, they trooped back the way they’d come ten minutes later. From the foot of the stairs, Garrett scanned the living room. After the first near-disaster with a shiny china bowl, he’d gathered up all the breakables and stashed them in a corner. When his son took off at a dead crawl for the front door, he’d shoved the couches, chairs and the coffee table into a rough rectangle filled with LJ’s kid-proof toys.

But the boy was an escape artist. He’d taken one look at Garrett’s makeshift corral and scooted across the floor to the tiny gap between a couch and a chair. Before Garrett could blink, LJ had wormed his way through and headed for the not-so-childproof area beyond. For the past two hours, the boy had been fixated on a spindly table by the door where Sarah kept a vase of fresh-cut flowers. Determined to reach it, he’d been getting faster, often making it across the room and through the barricade in less time than some of the eight-second rides Garrett had taken in the rodeo.

Was there a better way to contain the kid? Not seeing one, he propped the boy on his hip and wandered toward the kitchen. On the way, he tried lingering in the hallway. He tapped the frame of a picture showing his dad on a horse. “Grampa,” he said, pointing to the man whose boots he was trying to fill.

LJ slapped the glass with one hand. The frame swung on its nail, and the boy laughed. When he lunged again, Garrett caught the tiny hand in his larger one.

“No, no,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure which would be the hardest—explaining to his mom that he’d let LJ break the picture frame or cleaning up glass shards with a baby anywhere nearby. Neither idea held much appeal, and he moved on.

But any hope of finding help among the Circle P’s staff died the minute he stepped foot into the darkened kitchen. Garrett resisted the urge to slap his head. He wasn’t the only family member who was off work on Sunday. The counters were empty, head chef Emma and her assistants gone until Monday.

“Well, big guy, it looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Ba-ba,” LJ said. He pointed one stubby finger at the refrigerator.

“You want a bottle?” Garrett checked his watch. It was a little early, but what the heck? His limited experience with the boy told him the formula would keep his son occupied for at least twenty minutes. Alone in the ranch house with the child, twenty minutes seemed like an eternity. He grabbed one of the prepared bottles from the fridge.

Settling onto the couch with the baby in his arms, he teased the nipple against LJ’s lips. “Want it?” he asked.

LJ grasped the bottle and sucked greedily. At the first taste, the baby gave a contented gurgle and snuggled closer. Garrett stared down at his infant son. Yeah, the kid kept him on the toes of his boots, but he wouldn’t trade one minute of this time with LJ for all the money in the world. He leaned back against the seat cushions while images of other days they’d spend together crowded his thoughts. As soon as his son could walk, he’d buy the boy a pair of boots. Sometime before LJ’s third birthday, he’d prop the boy on his lap while he drove the tractor out to the pasture to feed the cattle. As he grew older, he’d teach his son how to muck stalls and properly bait a hook. He smiled, thinking of the fun they’d have together.

Crash!

Startled awake, Garrett glanced down at empty arms that, not five seconds ago, he’d have sworn held his boy. LJ was nowhere to be seen. But he could be heard, all right. His wails filled the room.

“Oh, Little Judd, what have you done?” The whispered question went unanswered. Garrett sprang to his feet. In his haste to get to his son, the rancher nearly tripped over the couch. He shoved it out of his way and raced across the wooden floor. How in the world had LJ managed to cross the room in what could only have been a few seconds?

Garrett’s heart skidded to a halt at his first glimpse of the boy who sat beside the overturned table. The vase lay, unbroken, some distance away. Water pooled around crushed flowers and snapped stems. A puddle of red spread out from beneath LJ’s legs.

Blood? No, not blood.

Garrett scooped the boy off the red tablecloth. His heart hammered as he frantically searched for cuts and scrapes. Finding none, he clasped the baby to his chest. LJ’s screams immediately dropped from ear-damaging decibels to sobs. Garrett patted the child’s back, whispered soothing words and waited for both of them to calm down while LJ’s tears created a big wet spot on his shirt.

“Did you bump your head?” He ran his fingers over the baby’s downy dark hair, not daring to breathe until he probed every inch without finding a single welt or gash.

“You okay, big guy?” As gently as he’d handle a new foal, Garrett smoothed his fingers along LJ’s arms and down his legs. No bumps, no bruises. He’d been lucky. They’d both been lucky.

The relieved sigh Garrett allowed himself caught in his throat. His stomach clenched and, still holding tight to LJ, he doubled over. How could he have fallen asleep? He drew in a strangled breath.

“That’s it, LJ. We’re done here.”

He needed help, but where could he get it? Sarah and Ty had hitched a horse trailer to their diesel truck and headed out shortly after Hank and Kelly picked up his mom this morning. The two families had plans to spend the day at the rodeo. A stop for dinner on the way back meant they wouldn’t be home before nightfall. He could head for Colt’s place in Indiantown, but he vaguely remembered hearing that Emma was away at a cooking seminar this weekend.

Garrett shrugged. He’d still load LJ and all his gear into his truck. Only, instead of heading to his brother’s place, he’d take the boy to Okeechobee. At least his son couldn’t get hurt while he was safely strapped into his car seat. Once they reached town, he’d transfer the boy to the stroller and take him for an ice cream. And who knew? Maybe they’d run into Lisa somewhere along the way. The more he thought about it, the more he liked that idea.

* * *

L
ISA
JUMPED
,
THE
WORDS
of her favorite song fading when someone knocked on her door. She dropped the rag she’d been using to buff her guitar’s surface to a high gloss. Louder this time, another dull thud sounded through the cozy living room. Clearly, patience wasn’t a virtue of whoever had climbed the flight of stairs that led from the alley behind Pickin’ Strings to the landing outside her apartment. Slowly she lowered the instrument to the old sheet she’d spread across the kitchen table. Grabbing a paper towel, she scrubbed at the sticky residue the polish left on her hands.

“Coming,” she called on her way across the tidy space.

A caution born of years sleeping in cheap hotels made her peer through the peephole. An expanse of pale blue filled her view. Lisa blinked and angled her head until she glimpsed a chiseled chin. Her heart fluttered before settling into its normal rhythm. She backed away, one hand reaching for the doorknob, the other smoothing the worn T-shirt she’d tossed on over her favorite pair of shorts this morning. Back when Garrett Judd had been the last person she’d expected to see today.

What was he doing here?

She wrenched open the door. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out which hit her harder, the blast of summer heat or the full impact of Garrett Judd standing so close. He glanced down. Her gaze followed, her stomach tightening when she spied the baby on his slim hip. She stared, uncertain. From what she’d seen of his relationship with his son, Garrett would never win a Father of the Year award. So, why had he brought LJ with him? For that matter, why had he come at all?

Their extra practice sessions were already paying off. By the time she and Garrett played for the Circle P’s guests, she had no doubt they’d be ready. But they hadn’t planned to meet today. She nibbled on her lower lip. Had she pushed him too hard? If he’d changed his mind about working with her, she’d have to convince him to stick with it.

Her thoughts jumbled, she lifted her head to study his face.

“Garrett?” she asked cautiously. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, sure. Mind if we come in for a minute?”

The slow grin that spread across the rancher’s face put her concerns about their lessons to rest but ignited a different kind of burn. She doused it with a reminder that Garrett hadn’t come alone. She took another look at LJ. At the end of a chubby leg, one moccasin dangled from a sockless foot. Cartoonish cowboys danced across his one-piece outfit. Masses of damp ringlets surrounded a red face that was nothing less than cherubic. Still wondering what had brought the rancher to her apartment on a Sunday, she stepped aside.

“C’mon in.” She gestured. She couldn’t very well leave father and son standing out in the heat.

Garrett’s dark good looks sucked the oxygen right out of the air as he stepped across the threshold. The apartment that was far from spacious to begin with shrunk to half its size. Cursing herself for a surge of unwanted attraction for the man, Lisa forced herself to cross to the opposite side of the room. “Can I get you a drink? Water? Something for LJ?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need a place to change the kid’s diaper.” Garrett lowered a bulging diaper bag to the floor while LJ took in his surroundings with the owlish look of a baby who’d just woken from a nap.

She fought the urge to scratch her head. Changing stations hugged the walls of most public restrooms. Most women’s restrooms, she corrected. She shuddered at the thought of changing the baby’s diaper on a dirty floor. “Sure, go ahead.” She pointed to the couch. “Can I get you anything?”

“Nope. I have everything I need. Mom and pretty much everyone else from the Circle P went to the rodeo over in Kissimmee today.” Garrett tugged a thin blanket from the bag and deftly spread it across the cushions. He spoke over one shoulder while he worked. “To tell the truth, this is the first time I’ve had LJ all on my own.”

“Really?” Garrett could strip and change his son pretty fast for someone who hadn’t spent much time with the boy.

“Yep. Don’t let his innocent looks fool you.” Lifting the freshly diapered baby, he chucked LJ under the chin. “He’s kept me hopping all morning. I could use your help.” With his son propped on one hip, he glanced at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Mine?” Slowly she shook her head. Garrett couldn’t have made a bigger mistake if he’d tried. In all of Okeechobee, she was the one person who didn’t want anything to do with someone else’s child, no matter how adorable the boy—or the father—was. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she started.

“Why not?”

She was still searching for a plausible excuse when LJ gave a healthy-sounding burp. The boy aimed a milky grin at her. His expression never changed, not even when what looked like a good portion of his last meal erupted from his mouth.

“Uh-oh,” she exclaimed.

“Oh crap, is more like it.” Foamy liquid flowed down the front of LJ’s outfit and coated the rancher’s sun-darkened hand. A look of pure consternation crossed Garrett’s face. A long-suffering sigh rose from deep in his chest. Tugging the flaps on the diaper bag, he struggled to hold on to LJ with one hand while, with the other, he plowed through diapers, toys and other paraphernalia.

“Here,” she said, seeing no way to avoid it. “Let me hold him while you get...whatever you need.”

At once, LJ’s tiny arms snaked around her neck. He nestled against her as if he’d known her all his life. His milky baby breath blew softly against her skin. Lisa blinked as the sweet scent of baby talc smothered the alarms going off in her head, the ones that warned not to get too close to Garrett. Or his son.

“Here we are,” Garrett said at last. His hand emerged from the bag holding a package of wet wipes and a new outfit.

Warmth spread through her chest as the rancher stepped closer. It sank to her midsection when he tenderly blotted drool from his son’s face. A deeper shift occurred in her heart as she watched him strip the dirtied clothes from the boy in quick, efficient movements. LJ laughed and kicked while Garrett worked the boy into a fresh one-piece. Quicker than she could sing a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” the rancher balled the soiled clothes into a plastic bag and stashed it out of sight. With LJ once more dressed and clean, he turned to her.