The Rancher's Lullaby

SERENADING HIS SON

The Circle P has always been home to the Judds. That’s why Garrett Judd came back—to take over as temporary ranch manager and to shelter his infant son in the warmth and love of his sprawling family. Bluegrass singer Lisa Rose isn’t part of his long-term plans. But ever since she hit town, the single father has been fighting his attraction to the willowy blonde.

Lisa gave up her life on the road to open a music store, but if business doesn’t pick up she may not last. Watching the rugged widowed rancher serenade his baby boy plucks at her heartstrings, making her long for something she’ll never have. But as long as Garrett keeps one cowboy boot in the past, they don’t stand a chance of building a future together. Do they?

“I don’t know what I’d ever do if I lost you.”

The moment the words spilled from Garrett’s lips, he knew. Knew their friendship had grown far beyond the bounds Lisa had set for them. He leaned down, searching her face. The flicker of awareness he saw in her dark eyes gave him just what he was looking for.

Heaven help him, he had to kiss her. He bent and put his heart into it. He wanted more, but refused to rush, refused to take more than she was willing to give. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, a groan rose in his chest. Her lips parted and he swept in, possessing her. Her unique floral scent filled his senses. He drank it in, unable to get enough of her. At last, he traced the outline of her jaw with one thumb.

He stared down into her dark eyes. A bemused look filled her face.

“Now, what?” he whispered.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled we have the opportunity to return to the Circle P Ranch in The Rancher’s Lullaby, my fourth book in the Glades County Cowboys series.

I’m glad, too, for the chance to share Garrett and Lisa’s story with you. Nearly a year has passed since Garrett lost his wife when his son was born. The grieving widower has returned home to the Circle P where, surrounded by family, Garrett longs to make a fresh start as a single dad, a condition he vows to maintain. Not even bluegrass sensation Lisa Rose can change his mind.

But when Okeechobee’s newest resident plucks Garrett’s heartstrings as sweetly as she picks a banjo, will his love for her outweigh his fear that history will repeat itself? The Rancher’s Lullaby is a story of second chances and new beginnings for Garrett and Lisa, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Once again, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my cousin Paula Crews for sharing her love for a ranch where tall green grass stretches unbroken to the horizon and brilliant clouds of pink, purple and gold fill the morning and evening sky. Thanks, too, for the support of my Writers Camp pals Roxanne St. Claire, Kristen Painter and Lara Santiago. Their friendship has turned what could be a very lonely profession into one filled with camaraderie, encouragement and more than a few laughs.

Leigh Duncan

The Rancher’s

Lullaby

Leigh Duncan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LEIGH DUNCAN, a bestselling author, writes books where home, family and community are key to the happy endings we all deserve. Married to the love of her life and mother of two wonderful young adults, Leigh lives on central Florida’s east coast. When she isn’t writing, Leigh loves curling up with a cup of coffee and a great book. She invites readers to follow @leighrduncan on Twitter, visit her Facebook page at LeighDuncanBooks or contact her through her website: leighduncan.com.

For Avery Blythe.

You light up the world.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Warm air swaddled Lisa Rose as she stepped from Pickin’ Strings onto the sidewalk. She dropped the heavy key ring into her purse. The unfamiliar weight tugged uncomfortably on her shoulder. At the corner of Park and Parrott, she squinted into a sun so bright it sapped her energy and was slowly washing the color out of her favorite denim skirt. She frowned as her heel sank into the black asphalt when she stepped off the curb. In the month since her arrival in Okeechobee, she hadn’t gotten used to heat that turned pavement into a sticky mess by ten in the morning. She wasn’t sure she ever would. Not that it mattered, she thought with a shrug that sent the beads and chains around her neck jingling. Her stay in south Florida was only temporary. By this time next year, she’d have her act together again. Literally and figuratively. Till then, she supposed there were worse places to rebuild her shattered dreams than in a small town with a tree-lined square. Tugging her boot free, she kept moving forward.

On the other side of the main street, she straightened the pewter cuff at her wrist. She ran her free hand over the thick hair that, in a nod to August’s sweltering heat, she had braided before heading out this morning. She separated a bright yellow flyer from the stack in her shoulder bag.

“Put me onstage, and I’ll gladly step to the mic, but is this absolutely necessary?” she whispered. As a performer, she’d never cared whether the venue held fifty people or five thousand. But this—oh, how she hated hitting the bricks, shaking down every business in town. It smacked too much of the early days when she’d been so hungry for a chance—any chance—that she’d have sold her soul for a record deal. Back then, she’d gotten a break or two. Peddled her songs to stars who’d performed them at the Grand Ole Opry. But here she was. Thirty-two and on her own again, looking for a different kind of break.

She took a calming breath. There really was no other option. If she expected a good return on her investment when she sold the music store later this year, she had to get Pickin’ Strings on solid financial footing. Which meant drawing customers into the shop. Squaring her shoulders, she assembled the smile she’d worn in front of a thousand different audiences and stepped into The Clock Restaurant.

“Good morning! Table for two?” A perky teen glanced into the space behind Lisa as if she expected another person to materialize out of thin air.

“Just one,” Lisa managed before the arctic blast that poured out of overhead vents hit her face. In an instant, the moisture that clung to her skin evaporated. Goose bumps rose across her bare shoulders. She struggled to keep her smile in place while she cast an envious glance at the hostess’s snug white sweater. Locals carried jackets with them, even when the outside temperatures and humidity hovered near three digits. It was a practice she’d adopt—and soon. She shivered and asked, “Is the manager or owner available?”

“No, ma’am.” The young woman’s helpful expression dimmed. From a bin, she took a single set of silverware wrapped in a paper napkin. She paused, reluctance playing across her smooth features. “Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. I’m new to the area and wanted to introduce myself.” Lisa relinquished her hold on the flyer. The girl was too young, too unsure of herself to be of any help. “Maybe you’ve seen my shop, Pickin’ Strings. It’s just up the street.”

“Can’t say as I have,” the hostess answered, turning. She hustled past one empty table after another. Finally, she plunked down the silverware at a booth near a set of swinging doors.

Lisa gave the less-than-desirable location a second glance. Across the aisle, a preschooler with dark curls dawdled over pancakes. An older woman seated at the table juggled a baby on one shoulder. Decked in blue from head-to-toe, the infant aimed a toothless grin her way, but Lisa averted her eyes. She brushed her fingers over her own all-too-flat tummy and slid onto her seat, her focus determinedly fixed beyond the window where traffic clogged the main thoroughfare.

“My name’s Genna. I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink, honey?” A waitress slid a plastic-coated menu onto the table.

“Coffee. With cream.” Lisa eyed the faded red uniform. She tugged a flyer from her purse. “If you could show this to the manager, I’d like to put it up in your window.”

The welcoming sparkle faded from Genna’s eyes. “I’d just be wasting your time and mine. Things are kind of dead ’round here till the snowbirds come back in November.” She gestured at the near-empty restaurant. “You might want to hang on to your ads till then.”

Lisa let the hand holding the paper slowly sink to the worn Formica tabletop as her idea of turning a quick profit on her investment took another hit. She’d heard some version of the same story everywhere she’d stopped this week. Though winter residents crowded the sidewalks and shopped the stores from November through March, most businesses barely took in enough to make their payroll during the rest of the year.

Disappointed, but not wanting to let it show, she summoned a cheery, “Well, thanks, anyway,” and pushed the menu aside. Eating out was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not until the music store produced a steady income.

She probably should have chosen a different location, a different town, but she’d taken one look at the empty storefront in the heart of Okeechobee and known it was the right place. She’d seen the stained ceiling tiles and threadbare carpet as a challenge to overcome and plunked down most of her available cash. Her creative juices stirring, she’d rolled up her sleeves and gone to work. But the place was in worse shape than she’d thought, and her savings account had issued a dying gasp as she stripped and painted dingy walls, replaced tired displays with new shelving and created a soundproof room off to one side. To stock the shelves with guitars and fiddles, mandolins and banjos, she’d been forced to borrow against her next royalty check. She’d crossed her fingers, hoping to turn a tidy profit at the grand opening.

She shook her head. Scheduling the event on the same weekend as a nearby rodeo had been her first mistake. She’d sold one—exactly one—inexpensive harmonica during a grand opening that wasn’t very grand. Since then, foot traffic had been abysmal. Which left an ad in the Okeechobee News as the only way to drum up business. She searched the bottom of her purse until she found a pen. Flipping the flyer over, she began sketching. The waitress had refilled her cup and the ad was nearly complete by the time Lisa heard the baby cry. Before she could stop it, her midsection clenched in a familiar way that had nothing to do with downing several cups of acidic coffee on an empty stomach.

“I have to gooooo,” the dark-haired cherub at the table across the aisle insisted.

Glancing up, Lisa spotted the woman in the booth uncapping a baby bottle. Tiny creases in sun-darkened skin deepened as the fussing infant in her arms lunged for it. “Can you hold on a while longer? Just until I give LJ his bottle?” she asked the girl. “I’ll take you as soon as he’s finished.”

“I have to go now, Gramma.” Squirming, the child shifted on her booster seat.

Apologetic blue eyes met Lisa’s inquisitive glance. “Sorry,” the woman mouthed.

“Oh, they don’t bother me,” Lisa lied. She gave herself bonus points for summoning a sympathetic “Looks like they keep you busy.”

Sighing, the grandmother tucked a strand of gray hair behind one ear. “I don’t know what possessed me, offering to bring both of them with me this morning. Guess I forgot what a handful two little ones can be.”

“I have to go-have-to-go-have-to-go.” The little girl clambered down from her seat and darted into the aisle.

“Bree Judd, you come back here this instant!” Panic flared across the grandmother’s face. She tugged the bottle from the baby’s mouth. Feet kicking, the boy sent up a protest.

The kid had a good set of lungs, Lisa thought as angry wails filled the restaurant. She clenched her fists while she fought every tick of the second hand on a clock whose sole purpose was to remind her that she was running out of time.

At the other table, the grandmother popped the bottle back into the baby’s mouth. He instantly quieted. “Gramma” cast an anxious look over her shoulder, but Bree had rounded a corner and disappeared. Her arms weighted with the baby, the woman edged awkwardly toward the end of the bench seat.

“Hold on. I’ll get her.” Lisa slipped out of her booth. She slid the flyer with the ad onto her neighbor’s table. “I’m Lisa Rose,” she said before she took off across the restaurant after the little speedster. The door to the ladies’ room banged against the wall as Bree dashed inside. Lisa caught up and lingered near the sinks while the girl attended to business. Minutes later, a much calmer version of the child emerged from a stall.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” Lisa reminded Bree when she started for the door.

The child managed a perfect scowl. “I can’t reach.”

“Do you need help?” Lisa’s heart lurched when dark curls bounced 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 to the kitchen and relative safety, he stumbled to a halt. He pivoted, his heart sinking as he spotted Ty Parker standing in an office doorway. All too aware that he’d gotten caught skulking through the house, Garrett straightened his six-foot-three-inch frame.

“Yeah?”

“The fall roundup is just around the corner. It’s time we made some plans for it.”

“What’s the rush?” Garrett hiked an eyebrow. The roundup wasn’t for nearly two months yet, and the ranch hands knew the drill. Hadn’t they been gathering the Parkers’ herd of prized Andalusian cattle every year as far back as anyone could remember? “I was on my way to get a bite to eat.”

“And disappear out the back door till everyone turns in?” The frown lines at the corners of Ty’s mouth deepened. “I’ve been trying to catch you for three days, but you’re always in a hurry to go someplace else.”

“What can I say?” Garrett shrugged. “There’s never much downtime on a spread the size of the Circle P.”

Maybe it had been easier when fence lines marked the end of the Circle P’s property at Little Lake. But Ty had expanded their holdings, adding another thousand acres and leasing several additional sections. Between that and opening many of the ranch’s activities to outsiders—tourists who paid good money for the privilege of playing cowboys for a week—the list of chores required to keep things running smoothly had more than doubled. Which wasn’t the only reason Garrett made himself scarce. It wasn’t even the main one but, as excuses went, it was the best he had to offer.

When Ty’s gaze continued to pin him to the wall, Garrett took a breath. He met Ty’s unwavering stare. “Sorry. Sure, Ty. What can I do for you?”

Unease trickled down his spine when Ty gestured him into the office. It deepened when the man who’d been his best friend ever since they were in diapers together closed the door behind them. Was he about to get fired? If so, he’d be the first Judd to get handed his walking papers in...well, forever. He swallowed and propped his Stetson on one knee as Ty took his place behind the scarred oak desk. For a moment, the owner shuffled papers. Staring up from them at last, Ty drummed his fingers on the desk.