Cowboy Lullaby. Sasha Summers

she, Scarlett and a bleary-eyed Renata bounced down the rutted dirt road to her new home. Tandy’s enthusiasm nosedived. The cabin was one room—and in need of substantial TLC. But the bed was big and comfy and there were large windows in three of the four walls. The fourth wall was the kitchen, a collection of burnt-orange appliances and curling wallpaper. A pop-up table was built into the wall, collapsing flat when not in use. Two wooden chairs hung on pegs from the wall to prevent overcluttering the space. To say furniture was minimal was an understatement. The only additional piece was a large recliner. She could function with her closet-sized bathroom. At least there was a teeny-tiny shower stall, a toilet and a sink that dripped. None of that was the problem.

      What bothered her was the view.

      This was the sad cabin she’d spied from Lynnie’s back porch. Now, Lynnie’s house occupied the majority of one window. Not just any window either. If she lay on her big comfy bed, that was her view.

      “No curtains?” she asked Scarlett.

      “We’ll head into town and shop.” Scarlett shook her head. “Might as well start a list.”

      “I’ll stay here and hold down the bed,” Renata offered, collapsing into the armchair.

      Banshee sniffed his way around the perimeter of the room and sat, staring at her.

      “Pass inspection?” she asked Banshee. “No rats? Or snakes?”

      “Or armadillos,” Scarlett added. “I hate armadillos.”

      Banshee’s tail thumped.

      “Doesn’t look like it. Good news,” Tandy said, rubbing her dog behind the ear and refusing to look out the window. Here she was, surrounded by an ocean of waving gold grass and wildflowers and rugged cliffs. Yet, just beyond the barbed-wire fence sat Lynnie’s house. And Click’s large gray truck.

      “Lightbulbs,” Renata said, pointing at the ceiling fan overhead. The light fixture was bare.

      “And candles,” Scarlett said, looking under the sink. “I’m thinking you’ll lose power whenever a storm rolls through. Candles are cheaper than batteries.”

      Tandy grinned. Leave it to her ridiculously wealthy cousin to be cost-conscious. “Candles sound good. And matches.” She opened the small wood-burning stove built into the far wall. “Wood, too, I guess.”

      “How about we bring in your gear and see what’s missing,” Renata said from the chair. “And when I say we, it’s understood that I’m not moving from this chair.”

      Tandy laughed.

      “Maybe you can bring in the bedding first?” she groaned, draping an arm across her eyes.

      Scarlett giggled. “That’ll teach you.”

      “Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, I promise,” Renata moaned. “No tequila. And no men. We should start a club.”

      Tandy shook her head. “I’m getting my stuff.” She propped the front door open and headed for her truck, Banshee at her heels. “What do you think?” she asked him. “Lots of room to run. Peace and quiet—”

      Banshee whimpered, staring at the fence line.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked, following his gaze.

      The hot West Texas wind carried the distinct sound of crying to her. A baby crying. She slowed, glancing at Lynnie’s house. Click was there, slowly making his way around Lynnie’s porch with Pearl in his arms. He was bouncing her, almost dancing with her—but Pearl kept right on crying.

      Banshee whimpered again. He loved kids—loved them. Tandy had taken him to every babysitting gig she’d had, so it was a natural development. Somehow the dog had determined that, since he lacked a herd to care for, his job was wrangling babies and children. And now there was a baby in need. The dog stared at her, golden eyes shimmering.

      “Hate to point this out, but you’re my dog,” she said. But poor Pearl was wailing. Her dog wasn’t the only one with a weakness for children. She sighed and gave up. “Go on.”

      Banshee took off, his tawny coat a flash in the tall grass, knocking wildflowers flat as he made a beeline for Pearl. Tandy waited. The minute Banshee reached Lynnie’s porch, he barked and ran around Click’s long legs. Pearl’s wails came to an abrupt stop.

      And Click laughed.

      She swallowed hard and turned back to her truck, tugging her bag from the back with so much force, she wound up falling on her butt. She sat there, fighting laughter—and tears—taking slow calming breaths.

      “What can I carry?” Scarlett asked. “You okay?”

      She pushed off the ground. “I’m fine. A dork, but fine. Grab what you can.” She grinned. “Bedding is in that suitcase.”

      Scarlett reached inside for the bag. “You sure you’re going to be okay out here?”

      “It’s not so bad,” Tandy said, inspecting the small cabin. Truth be told, it would be nice to have the space.

      “I’m not talking about the cabin.” She nodded at her neighbors. “What if he stays?”

      Tandy shook her head, impersonating her uncle Woodrow as she said, “Let’s not put the cart in front of the horse.”

      “I can’t believe you just said that,” Renata said from her spot, leaning against the door frame.

      “It was scary good,” Scarlett agreed.

      Tandy smiled, hooking her backpack over one shoulder and lugging a large suitcase with the other. She’d lived too much of her life worrying over Click Hale. That was going to stop, now.

      * * *

      CLICK SHIFTED PEARL to his hip and unhooked the gate between Lynnie’s and Woodrow Boone’s properties. A gate he had put in years before. It was rusty after sitting so long, but a solid push had it swinging open. How many times had he and the girls met up after the moon was high? They’d been damn lucky never to have run into a rattlesnake or javelina—or any other trouble. Those were happy memories. When he came to Lynnie’s, he’d pretend that this was his home and life was easy and carefree.

      “Da-gee,” Pearl said, reaching for Banshee and kicking her little legs.

      “Doggie.” Click nodded, repeating her words.

      She smiled at him. “Da-gee. Do-gee. Da-gee.”

      He laughed. “You like that doggie?”

      Banshee stopped, looked back at them and took off.

      “He wants us to follow him,” Click explained. He didn’t know enough about babies to know if Pearl listened or not. Half the time he thought she understood everything he said. Others, not so much. Like when he was trying to rock her to sleep at 2:00 a.m.

      “Da-gee?” she asked, leaning forward in his arms, searching for Banshee.

      “He’s over there,” Click said, pointing. “Right there. Banshee,” he called.

      Banshee came trotting back.

      “Da-gee!” Pearl squealed.

      Banshee barked, making Pearl jump. Click smiled at her wide, startled eyes.

      “Doggie said hi,” he said. “Say hi, Pearl.”

      Clearly, his daughter wasn’t sure she liked the barking part of the dog. Her little mouth was puckered. The excited kicking and hand waving had stalled out, too.

      “Hi, doggie,” he repeated, smiling. “Hi.”

      She looked at him. “Hee, da-gee.”

      Banshee barked.

      “See, he likes it.” Click nodded.

      Pearl nodded. Whether she was agreeing with him or doing what he did, he wasn’t