The Rancher's Lullaby (Glades County Cowboys)

by Leigh Duncan

“Hey-up. Hey-up.” With the promise of a free afternoon in the offing, the men urged their horses to pick up the pace. The cow dogs followed suit. Dodging horns, their barks wilder and more frequent, the well-trained curs darted between hooves, nipped at heels and generally made such a nuisance of themselves that the cattle broke into a trot just to get away from them.

  Twenty sweat-soaked minutes later, Garrett mopped his brow with his bandana while the rest of the hands herded the cows through the open gate and onto fresh grass. He swigged water from his canteen as a jangle of tack and the creak of leather announced another rider’s approach. Recapping the bottle, Garrett cut a glance at a young cowhand.

  “What’cha need?” he asked the boy who, according to all reports, had shown more interest in birds than cattle.

  “Thought I might head over and batten down the solar array on the west pasture.” Josh tugged on the brim of a sweat-stained Stetson. “In case we get some wind tonight.”

  Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Why? You think it’s gonna be a problem?” The solar arrays were sturdy things, built to withstand the weather.

  The boy lifted a shoulder. “I was working on it yesterday. I might’ve forgot to put the tie-downs back on.”

  Garrett lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You might have forgot? Or you did?” He had to be sure before he authorized the ride across six hundred acres of prime grazing land.

  Josh averted his eyes. “A pair of wood storks wandered past just as I was finishing up. I might’ve been a bit distracted. But I’d hate for the array to get damaged on my account. Those things are darn expensive, aren’t they?”

  “You got that right.” Cement ponds with solar-powered pumps to keep the water flowing meant less pollution than old-fashioned watering holes. So, even though every rancher in south Florida complained about the cost, they’d all installed one or two.

  A light tug on Gold’s reins brought the buckskin quarter horse to a prancing stop. Garrett sifted the stallion’s mane while he took another look at the distant clouds. If he let the horse run, they’d make it across the section and back before dinner, but he’d probably have to skip the practice jam at Pickin’ Strings tonight. He shrugged. He was okay with that. The tall, willowy new owner might have a voice like an angel’s and curves in all the right places, but it still rankled that Ty and his mom had made him promise to work with her.

  His decision made, Garrett reined his horse to the left. “You go on with the others,” he told Josh. “I’ll take care of the array and see you later, at the house.”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Garrett? I’m the one what messed up.”

  “You just head on back to the barn with all the others. But Josh?” Thinking of his recent conversation with Ty, Garrett softened the harsh look he aimed at the young cowhand. “Next time, mind that you finish the job before you go off birdwatchin’.”

  Josh tipped the brim of his hat with one hand. “Yessir.” He slapped his reins against his mount’s neck and moved off in the opposite direction.

  “Wanna fly, boy?” Garrett whispered to the horse who was born to run. The instant his heels touched Gold’s flanks, the stallion broke into a brisk lope that sent a sweat-drying breeze straight into Garrett’s face. He anchored his Stetson and kept moving, not slowing until they arrived at the solar panels, where several quick turns with his wrench tightened the critical tie-downs.

  Mounting up again, Garrett eyed the storm clouds scuttling across the sky. A shortcut across the fields might get them to the barn before the rain if he hurried. He loosened the reins and let Gold have his head. The horse surged forward.

  Powerful muscles churned beneath Garrett. He shushed the voice that said he should slow down. That all it would take to send him flying was for Gold to stick one hoof in a snake den. If they fell at this speed, he’d be lucky if he didn’t break his neck. Or Gold’s. Still, exhilarated by the speed and, yes, by the danger, Garrett didn’t try to slow the horse when they reached the first fence. Instead, he goaded the buckskin into taking the leap over the three strands of barbed wire. Wire that, given half a chance, would cut man and horse to ribbons.

  Gold’s hooves cleared the top line by a good two feet.

  Encouraged, Garrett leaned down until his chest nearly pressed against the horse’s neck. At the signal for more speed, Gold moved faster, his mane flying back, hooves pounding the dense grass. The horse grunted, his breath thunderous. Lather foamed along his neck. Wind plastered Garrett’s shirt against his arms.

  They were skirting around a stand of trees when Garrett spotted the next fence. He cursed, aware that he’d been watching for downed limbs and exposed roots when he should have been on the lookout for wire and posts. They were coming up on this one too fast for a jump, and he tugged the reins to the side, turning. Relief sent prickles down his arms when the horse’s path shifted parallel to the barbed wire.

  And damn, if he hadn’t ridden Gold straight into trouble. A corner post stood dead ahead, wicked barbed wire strands stretching in either direction as far as he could see.

  “Whoa, boy, whoa!” He hauled back on the reins, his heart sinking.

  Fence lines raced toward them even as the stallion’s muscles bunched and his powerful front legs locked. Time slowed until seconds lasted hours, though Garrett knew everything was happening very quickly. His butt lifted out of the saddle. His feet cleared the stirrups. The horse’s hind legs came up. Gold kicked and, still moving at a good clip, slid into the fence. Wire bit into the buckskin’s chest. The horse screamed. Garrett tucked himself into a ball and prayed for a soft landing. The ground rushed at him. He hit and hit hard. His breath whooshed out of him.

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t summon enough strength to roll out of the way before a thousand pounds of bleeding horseflesh either sailed over the fence on top of him or tore straight through it, trailing wire.

  He could listen, though. Listen to Gold straining to free himself. Listen to the horse’s screams. Hear his own heart thudding against his chest.

  With the horse pressed against it, wire stretched. Posts creaked ominously. A sharp ping sounded as a nail straightened. It sailed past Garrett’s left ear. Hooves scrambled to find purchase in the thick grass. Dirt clods flew.

  This is it. Any second now, the fence will give way. Gold’ll come thundering down on top of me, and that’ll be the end.

  Fear sent his thoughts skittering. Faces of the people he loved blinked in and out like neon signs. He saw LJ and felt the sharp pang of regret. He’d never cradle his young son in his arms again. Never teach the boy how to muck a stall or ride a horse. He wouldn’t be there to walk his child to school, see him in a cap and gown, stand beside him in a church while a woman dressed in white slowly walked up the aisle. He’d never be able to tell his son how much he was loved. Unable to lift a finger, Garrett clung to the image of his baby boy.

  “Please, God,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Another nail let loose. Gold stumbled forward a step. The fence posts on either side bent precariously.

  Breathless, Garrett heaved himself onto one side and rolled. And rolled. He kept tumbling, side over side, until his chest unlocked. Sucking in air, he managed another couple of yards. He drew in a shallow breath and lay flat on his back, his arms flung out at his sides. For the next minute or so, he concentrated on drawing air in and shoving it out. When he could finally breathe without the sensation that each breath was his last, he spared a quick glance at the fence.

  Wire hung in loose strands from splintered wooden posts. Gold stood about ten feet away, shaking his head and blowing air. Blood ran in rivulets down the horse’s wide chest and legs. Groaning, Garrett flexed his toes and could barely believe it when they moved. Wonder filled him at the discovery that his knees still bent in the right direction. Reasonably certain he hadn’t broken anything and more than a little perplexed about it, he slowly rose to his feet. The shoulder that had hit the ground first sent up a twinge, and he rubbed it. He
glanced around, spotting his hat in the grass on the far side of the fence. He slipped under the lowest strand. A sharp barb snagged his shirt, ripping a long tear in the cloth.

  “Jeez, Gold,” he exclaimed. The horse had to be in pain.

  He whistled, but the buckskin only eyed him nervously, tail switching. One ear flicked forward.

  “It’s all right,” Garrett said, forcing the tremble out of his voice. He eased to the horse’s side. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

  He ran a hand down the stallion’s front legs, checking for breaks, contusions or profuse bleeding. Other than a few nicks just above one knee, there were far fewer gashes than he’d expected. No bumps that might indicate a break, either, he noted with relief. He threaded his fingers through the horse’s dark mane. Gold shivered beneath his touch.

  “Hey, boy. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Moving slow and easy so as not to spook the understandably jumpy horse, he untied his canteen from the saddle and grabbed a spare bandana out of the bag strapped to the back jockey. After pouring a generous amount of water onto the rag, he gently grabbed Gold’s bridle.

  “Shh, shh, boy,” he murmured when the horse shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to see what’s going on here.”

  Garrett slipped his hand beneath the cheek piece and held tight while he dabbed at a series of evenly spaced gashes where the sharp spines of the barbed wire had broken through the horse’s thick hide. He sucked his teeth at a couple of wounds that looked deep enough to need stitches, but overall, the damage wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He ran a hand over Gold’s withers, amazed that they’d both escaped his foolish escapade relatively unscathed. As a final check, he walked Gold in a circle, watching for a limp or some other sign that the horse couldn’t make the three-mile journey home. He patted the buckskin’s neck.

  “Thanks for not killing me, boy,” he whispered, his face pressed against Gold’s.

  But wasn’t that what he’d wanted?

  Slowly Garrett sank to his knees, the wind knocked out of him for the second time in the same day. What had he been thinking? He’d been in a dark, unhappy place ever since Arlene’s death. He winced, realizing he might have wished to join her a time or two. But he’d been wrong. So wrong.

  His late wife had given her life to bring their son into the world. The son he’d all but ignored for ten months. How could he have practically thrown her gift away? It was up to him to honor her memory by being a father—a real dad—for their child. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. So far, he’d shied away from the baby, but starting today, he’d change. He’d forge a relationship with the boy.

  After all, LJ was the only child he’d ever have. He might not know where he was headed or what he was going to do with the rest of his life, but he did know that much.

  With Gold trailing behind him, he set off toward the ranch. It was just as well he was out of cell phone reach, he told himself. He had some thinking to do, and out here with the sun beating down mercilessly on his back was just the place to do it.

  * * *

  “THANKS FOR VISITING. If you have any trouble with those new strings, bring your fiddle in, and I’ll adjust them for you. Free of charge.”

  Lisa handed the paper bag to the young man who’d wandered into the shop just as she was sitting down to lunch. Though he’d strummed every instrument on her shelves and taken her best mandolin into the soundproofed room for a tryout, he’d purchased only a single package of new strings. She smiled as widely as if he’d spent a small fortune. A customer was still a customer. And if this one didn’t reach down deep for a new top-of-the-line instrument today, he’d come back when he was ready. At least, that was the theory.

  She swept a critical eye over the tidy little storefront as the bell over the door chimed with the departure of the afternoon’s lone visitor. The shelves gleamed with a fresh coat of linseed oil. She had dusted and tuned every instrument until they looked and sounded their best. Books and sheet music stood in neat rows on racks. Guitar straps hung from pegs. Beyond her windows, traffic moved in fits and starts, regulated by out-of-sync traffic lights at either end of the street. A steady stream of pedestrians hurried past. From the bulging white bags they carried when they passed by her window again, she knew they’d visited the bakery.

  But none of them ducked into her shop. With nothing to do but kill time before the jam and her first practice with Garrett, she grabbed the lunch she’d stashed in the fridge in the back room. She’d just taken her first bite of her sandwich when the bell over the door jingled again. She glanced up from her perch behind the cash register. Her spine stiffened as a round man in a tight-fitting suit tugged a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He mopped his forehead with it.

  What was her lawyer doing here?

  She swallowed drily and lowered the sandwich to her plate, her appetite evaporating. “Clyde.” She nodded, standing. Her paper bag rustled as she shoved the rest of her lunch beneath the counter. “Good to see you. What brings you all the way to Okeechobee? Business with another client?”

  She could only hope. Whatever had forced the attorney to make the two-hour drive inland from Fort Pierce had to be important. And probably bad news.

  Clyde’s head bobbed as he spoke. “I figured, with your connections, you’d wind up in Nashville. This looks nice. Real nice.”

  The attorney hadn’t shown up today just to congratulate her on a new business venture. Not when a phone call would have accomplished the same thing. Cutting her ties with friends she’d shared with her ex had been part of the reason she’d chosen this small south Florida town.

  She sighed. Brad must have thrown another monkey wrench into their divorce proceedings. So far, he’d been dragging his feet at every juncture.

  “If Brad wants more money...” Lisa deliberately steered her gaze away from the practically empty till. She was pretty sure Clyde knew her net worth down to the last penny. As part of the divorce process, he’d combed through her books and accounts before splitting everything right down the middle. According to Florida law, that was the norm in so-called amicable divorces. In her case, though, it meant she had given Brad half her savings while he gave her half his debts.

  The sleeves of Clyde’s three-piece suit clung to his upper arms when he held up his hands. “No, no. That’s not it at all. Mr. Rose is perfectly happy with the financial end of things.”

  “He ought to be,” she muttered. For the rest of her life, Brad would get his share of the royalties on the songs she’d written while they were married, even though he hadn’t contributed so much as a line or a chord to their creation. “What does he want?”

  “Surprisingly, nothing. He’s signed his copy of the settlement decree. In fact, he’s asked the courts to move up the final hearing. He wants the divorce over and done with as soon as possible. That’s why I’m here—to get your signature so we can put an end to this and you can move forward with your life.”

  “Now? Now he’s in a hurry?” Lisa tugged on the end of her braid. For the last six months, Brad had treated the divorce proceedings with his usual smug indifference and insisted she’d eventually come back to him. She should be happy he’d finally thrown in the towel, but she had to know why. “What’s the rush?”

  “I heard he and Jessie have set a date,” Clyde answered without meeting her eyes. “Two weeks from Friday.”

  So Brad and the backup singer had decided to tie the knot. Lisa stared out the window at the people who sped past, anxious to get out of the heat. She waited, but the expected rush of disappointment and pain never materialized. She supposed she’d known their marriage was doomed from the moment Brad had denied her pleas for another round of in vitro fertilization. Finding him in bed with Jessie had only brought things to a head. That still didn’t explain why, after dragging his feet for so long, her ex had decided to move forward. Lisa sifted through possible reasons until she stumbled on one that made her ill. She tilted her head. “Clyde, what do you k
now?”

  “Nothing for certain,” the lawyer protested, though the red that crept up his neck and onto his face said he did.

  “She’s pregnant?” Despite her efforts, Lisa’s voice rose.

  On the other side of counter, Clyde’s color deepened to crimson. The man studied his toes. “Four months, according to Jessie’s Facebook page.”

  Lisa’s stomach churned, and she swallowed bile. Her attorney had warned her away from social media until the divorce was final. Apparently Brad and Jessie hadn’t received the same message. She clutched the display case, her fingers leaving damp, sweaty prints on the glass. “Pregnant,” she whispered.

  “Unexplained infertility” was the best diagnosis the doctors could offer her to explain five long years of trying, and failing, to get pregnant. When they suggested stress might be the culprit, she’d come off the road, spent a year writing songs and living a quiet life, but that hadn’t worked any better than the vile herbal tonics her sister, the health nut, had suggested. IVF had been her last hope. They’d tried one round. But in reality she was the only one trying by that point. Brad had given up months earlier, complaining that no child was worth the hell the hormones put her body through. Or the outrageous expense, though he hadn’t contributed one dime toward the cost. Tens of thousands of dollars later, all she’d had to show for her efforts were a busted marriage and a bucket of tears. Through it all, she’d clung to the faint hope that her body wasn’t to blame. That some day, some way, she’d be able to conceive.

  But Jessie’s pregnancy changed things. It proved Brad wasn’t the one with the problem. And that—well, that left only her. She had to face the fact that she was barren. She’d never conceive, never give birth, never hold a baby of her own in her arms.

  Sucker-punched by the news, Lisa doubled over. Every cubic inch of air seeped out of her. Slowly she sank onto the chair behind the counter. The room spun. She lowered her head to her knees.

  “Lisa? Lisa? Are you all right?” Clyde asked. “I know the end of a marriage is never easy, but it’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?”