The Rancher's Lullaby. Leigh Duncan

as an elfin face aimed a trusting look her way.

      “Mommy lifts me.” Bree retreated to the sink, where she waited to be held up.

      “O-kay,” Lisa breathed, regretting the decision to get involved. She shoved her bracelets up her arms and, thankful for the strength that came from years of lugging sound equipment from one venue to another, hefted the headstrong waif to the sink without holding her close. It didn’t matter. Simply lifting the child loosed an old familiar ache that spread through her chest. She’d tried so hard to have a baby, and look what it had gotten her—a busted marriage and an empty womb. Would she ever have a little girl or boy of her own? She blinked aside a stray tear and hummed beneath her breath while Bree washed up.

      “Ready to go back now?” she asked, handing the girl a paper towel from the dispenser mounted too high for little arms.

      “Uh-huh.” Bree nodded.

      Lisa lagged behind while the girl scooted back the way they’d come. By the time she reached their booths again, Bree had climbed back into her seat. “She helped me,” she announced, grabbing a cup with a plastic cover. “She’s nice and she has pretty bracelets.” She drank from the straw.

      “Thanks.” A worried frown on the grandmother’s face dissolved. “I’m Doris Judd. I guess you’ve met my granddaughter, Bree. And this little one here—” she nodded at the baby who sucked vigorously on the near-empty bottle “—this one’s the newest member of the Judd family. We call him Little Judd. LJ, for short.”

      “Pleased to meet you.” Seeing as Doris’s arms were full, Lisa didn’t bother shaking hands. “I’m Lisa Rose,” she repeated. “I’ve opened a music shop on Parrot. Have you heard of it...Pickin’ Strings?”

      “Can’t say as I have, but...” Doris nudged the flyer with one elbow. “It says here you used to be in the band called ’Skeeter Creek. Not with them anymore?”

      “No.” Lisa let a breath seep between her lips. “I got tired of spending eight months on the road each year. It was time I found someplace to call my own.” There was more to the story, of course, but little ears and complete strangers didn’t need to hear it.

      “You were still with them when they played at the Barlowe place last spring?”

      Lisa nodded. Usually an appearance like the ranchwarming would have faded into a blur of one-night gigs. By spring, though, her marriage had crashed and burned and, along with it, her hopes for a baby. Suddenly tired of everything about her life, she’d started looking for a place to hang her hat until she got back on her feet again. She’d landed in small-town Okeechobee.

      Doris continued. “I was in Atlanta and missed it, but people around here are still talking about that party...and the music.”

      Finished with his bottle, LJ’s eyes drifted closed. Doris shifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his back. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to travel the way you have. I’ve lived most of my life on the Circle P Ranch. My late husband, Seth, he managed the place. It’s a job that’s been handed down from father to son for four, going on five, generations.”

      “Must be nice to have those kinds of roots.” Lisa gave the woman a smile she didn’t have to fake. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “People think being up onstage is all glitz and glamour. To be honest, it’s a hard life. But it’s the only one I’ve ever known...until now. I haven’t been here long, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of waking up in my own bed every day.” Or watching the sunlight filter through the same set of curtains each morning.

      Still, waking up alone, doing everything on her own—it took some getting used to. Six months had passed before her bare ring finger felt natural without the thin gold band. The one she’d tossed into the first lake she’d come across after discovering Brad in bed with the band’s backup singer. In another six, waking up alone would feel normal, too.

      Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, because Doris said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. Won’t you join us?”

      “I wish I could. But I need to open the shop in a few minutes.” Despite the difference in their ages, something about Doris told Lisa they could be friends. “Some other time?”

      A suntanned arm nudged the flyer again. “I see you’re holding bluegrass jams on Tuesday nights. That ought to draw a crowd.”

      “You think?” Lisa brightened. “I was hoping to attract more customers with these flyers, but...” She let her voice trail off. But business wasn’t exactly booming.

      “Tell you what. We have a good-size crew on the Circle P.” At Doris’s shoulder, LJ expelled a healthy burp. “Why don’t you come on out and have supper with us tomorrow? It’ll give you a chance to talk to some of the boys about coming into town Tuesday nights. Supper goes on the table at six sharp.”

      More disappointed than she had a right to be, Lisa shook her head. “Sorry, but I don’t close the shop till six.”

      “Come for dessert, then. It’s the least I can do to repay you for lassoing this little one and bringing her back to me.” Doris nodded to the child, who pushed bites of pancake through syrup. When Lisa wavered, she said, “You might as well say yes. I won’t take no for an answer.”

      Lisa’s standard refusal died at the cheery look in Doris’s blue eyes. What was one evening? She certainly didn’t have anything better to do, and the prospect of making a new friend was too appealing to ignore. Especially since, by the time she closed Pickin’ Strings, freshened up a little and made the half-hour drive to the ranch, the children would certainly have gone to bed.

      * * *

      GARRETT JUDD SWERVED onto the long, empty stretch of highway. He bore down on the pedal, pushing the truck until it rattled and swayed. Barbed wire and fence posts sped by so fast they blurred into a seamless stream. The steering wheel pulled to one side as his tires hit a tiny dip in the road. Garrett held his breath.

      Was this finally it?

      Would they find his waterlogged body when they pulled his truck from the deep drainage ditch that ran alongside the roadway? He whistled through clenched teeth when the wheel straightened of its own accord. Swallowing bile, he slowed marginally for the turn into the Circle P Ranch.

      A cloud of dust filled his rearview mirror as he flew down the graveled drive toward the main house. He eased his foot off the gas only when he neared a large dirt lot surrounded by riding pens, barns and outbuildings. Aware that a ranch hand could emerge from the barn at any second, Garrett mashed the brake. Dirt spewed from beneath the tires as the vehicle came to a shuddering stop in front of a sprawling cedar house. Throwing the truck into Park, he jumped from the front seat. He took the steps two at a time, barely registering the drop in temperature as he stepped onto the wide front porch.

      Never locked, the doorknob turned easily in his grasp. Garrett swept his Stetson from his head and stepped across the threshold. He relaxed slightly when no one called to him from the leather couches that provided ample seating for both family and paying guests. Intending to grab a snack and disappear out the back door before anyone noted his presence, he hustled across the hardwood floors.

      In the long hall that led to the kitchen, he pointedly studied his boot tips rather than the dozens of photographs that lined the walls. Not that it did any good. From the earliest images of his ancestors working the land and its cattle to the most recent photo of his brother Hank’s wedding, he knew every picture by heart. Some folks might have thought it odd that so many Judds were captured in the history of the Parker ranch, but ask anyone from either side and they’d say it was only natural. The two families had been intertwined ever since the first Parker hired the first Judd to manage the acres of flat land that stretched from one horizon to the other. Still, afraid he’d catch sight of his dad or see Arlene’s smiling face peering out at him from the photos, Garrett kept his eyes down, his focus averted.

      “Garrett. If you’ve got a minute...”

      Halfway