Cowboy Lullaby. Sasha Summers

Deep, raw and angry.

      “You’re exhausting,” Renata said, having planted herself on a kitchen stool seconds before.

      Tandy smiled, rinsing out the sponge.

      “I say we go get drunk,” Renata said. “It’s the only option.”

      Tandy shot her a look. “How do you figure that?”

      “My brain can’t stop spinning. I can only imagine what’s going through yours.” Renata’s blue eyes met hers.

      She was pretty sure alcohol wasn’t going to fix a thing. Still, she knew her heart wasn’t the only one hurting right now. “Scarlett’s okay with it?” she asked.

      “She will be.” Renata winked.

      Tandy shook her head and carried the mop bucket out the back screen door, letting it slam behind her. Poor Scarlett—she’d have no say-so in their plans for the evening. But spending a night chatting with Uncle Woodrow and Aunt Evelyn wasn’t Tandy’s ideal way to unwind. She was too wound up. They’d only make it worse. Maybe a drink or two wasn’t a bad idea. Anything to help her forget for a while.

      Banshee jumped up from his place on the deck, pushing his massive head under her hand. She patted him, dumped the dirty water out and leaned against the railing, gasping for breath. The past was over and done with. She had no right to feel anything. None. So her anger was a shock. But she was. Really angry.

      Worse, she hurt.

      I’m done hurting over the past.

      Banshee head-butted her hand, groaning in the back of his throat. She rubbed behind his ear, his silky fur calming her. A little.

      Fourteen months? Fourteen months. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Didn’t want to.

      “Is that Tandy Boone?”

      Tandy jumped, spinning on her heel. “Brody?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I didn’t know you were here. Last I heard, you were wheeling and dealing in Dallas, or something.”

      “Just got here. Nothing like a funeral to get people together again.” Brody Wallace’s hug was warm. “I make the trip once a month, or when Dad needs me. He’s never fully recovered from his stroke last fall. Not that he’d admit it or say I was anything other than a nuisance.”

      “You’re being a good son to check in on him so regularly. No thoughts of taking over the family businesses yet?” she asked.

      “Soon, maybe.” Brody smiled. “I came to pay my respects. Lynnie Hale was a rare breed.”

      Tandy nodded. “She was that.”

      “What brings you back to Fort Kyle?” Brody’s brown eyes did a quick head-to-toe. “Not that I’m not glad to see you and all. Who is this?” he asked, nodding at Banshee.

      “Banshee, my best friend, of course. We moved for a new job at the veterinary clinic.” She squinted into the setting sun, the fence between Lynnie’s and Uncle Woodrow’s property visible. And just beyond the fence line sat one of Uncle Woodrow’s hunting cabins. Wildflowers carpeted the space between, vibrant pinks and reds and blues a stark contrast to the rugged beauty of West Texas. Nothing like the rolling hills she’d left behind in Stonewall Crossing. Please God, don’t let this move be a mistake.

      “So you’ll be around for a while?” he asked.

      She shrugged, everything she’d known a few hours ago no longer certain. The job here paid ridiculously well, and she still needed some distance from all the weddings and babies in Stonewall Crossing. She was happy for her family and loved them dearly, but it was hard. “We’ll see.” She rubbed on Banshee then, smiling into his golden eyes.

      “What’s taking so long? You better not be scrubbing the porch or sweeping the rafters—” Renata’s eyes went round when she spied Brody. “Brody Wallace, what are you doing out here?”

      Brody laughed. “Enjoying the view.” He caught Renata in a big hug. “Damn good to see you, Renata.”

      “You, too.” Renata clapped his shoulders. “You should come with us tonight. We can catch up.”

      Brody looked back and forth between them. “Where are you going?”

      “The Tumbleweed,” Renata said. “Drinks are definitely in order.”

      Brody nodded. “I could use a drink. Any other Boones around?”

      Tandy shook her head, knowing exactly what he was asking. “If you’re asking if Uncle Woodrow is here, the answer is no. It’s just me, Renata and Scarlett.”

      He winked. “He’s not real fond of me. Guess it’s the last name.” As far as Tandy knew, the Wallace-Boone animosity began and ended with the current patriarchs.

      “Is that why you’re hanging around outside?” Tandy asked.

      He shrugged. “No point adding more stress to the day.”

      “Agreed. We’ll meet you there, around seven,” Renata said, waving at him before tugging Tandy back into the kitchen. “No more. I’m guessing you’re as ready to go as I am?”

      Tandy nodded. “You get Scarlett, I’ll get the truck.”

      Renata nodded, her blue eyes full of sympathy once more. “If it helps, he’s in Lynnie’s room with...with his daughter.”

      Tandy frowned, straightening. “I’m not hiding from him,” she lied. If she was avoiding him it was because she was afraid she’d cause a scene. Not by yelling, that wasn’t her style. But crying a river of tears was a surefire way to get people talking. Her cheeks were flaming as she headed from the kitchen to the front door.

      “Tandy, there you are.” Miss Francis gripped her arm. “We hoped you’d play Lynnie’s favorite hymn for us. It was too quiet at the service today, what with Mr. Magee’s arthritis making it hard for him to play. Seems wrong, don’t you think? With her love of music and all.”

      She wanted to argue and get the hell out of there. But how could she? Miss Francis was right. She could do this—for Lynnie.

      “Yes. Of course.” With a glance at Scarlett and Renata, she made her way to the piano. She sat, running her finger along the newly polished surface before sliding the lid back. She took a deep breath, stretched her fingers and began. No one needed to tell her what Lynnie’s favorite hymn was. Lynnie had hummed “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” all the time. She said prayer was really a long-distance call to Jesus, that he was always listening.

      Tandy played, the straightforward notes and simple rhythm flowing from her without thought. She could almost hear Lynnie, knitting in her rocking chair, humming along. Voices joined in, filling the small parlor with song. She sang, too, the words long ago etched into her brain. By the time she was done, there were tears on her cheeks. Happy, thankful tears for the privilege of knowing such a strong and giving woman. Sorrow that such a life force was gone. And yet, she was one of the gifted few to know and love Lynnie Hale.

      “That was perfect, darling girl,” Miss Francis said, pulling her into a tight embrace before Tandy had managed to stand. “She loved to hear you play, loved that you loved music so.”

      Music was a comfort. Thanks to Lynnie, she’d mastered the piano, the guitar, the banjo and the dulcimer. Creating music and lyrics eased wounds and hurts too deep to ever fully heal. “She didn’t give me much choice,” Tandy said, wiping her cheeks. “I’m not sure I ever thanked her for that.”

      Beyond Miss Francis, Renata and Scarlett waited—crying and leaning on each other. Brody Wallace had come inside and had an arm around each of them.

      And Click, stony and rigid, watched her from the door.

      Black hair. Strong jaw. Tall and broad and muscled. Blue-green eyes that pierced her soul. Nothing had changed. Nothing. Except all the pleasure his presence used to stir was