The Cowboy's Lullaby

The wooden fence, which surrounded the front portion of the property from the county road, had been bright white when his father had been alive, but it needed a fresh coat of paint. He’d have to see that it got done, because when the designated time passed and the custody issue had been settled, he was going to put this place on the market, something his father should have done years ago.

The Braddock Enterprises office was in the city, as was Jake’s townhouse, so there was no reason to keep the ranch.

He parked his SUV near the barn, removed his things—a leather briefcase and an overnight bag—then headed toward the front porch of the sprawling custom-built adobe house. His first inclination had been to open the front door without knocking, something he’d done when only his father had lived here. But times had changed.

As he climbed the front porch steps, the morning sun moved from behind a cloud, casting its light over him. A westerly breeze kicked up, and he caught a whiff of alfalfa. In the distance, a horse whinnied.

He almost felt like a kid again. Coming home.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The ranch had ceased being a home to him the day Desiree had moved in. The day his father had become another person.

Jake knocked lightly, and when no one responded, he rang the bell. It was discomfiting to know there was a stranger living here—even temporarily.

Footsteps from within sounded, and Barbara Davies, the housekeeper, answered the door.

He lifted the briefcase he held in one hand and the suitcase he held in the other. “Desiree’s orders.”

“Yes, I know.” She stepped aside, allowing him entrance. “She mentioned it to me a month or two ago.”

Again Jake was reminded that he hadn’t been privy to squat. And since he was probably to blame for refusing his stepmother’s offers of friendship, another rush of regret twisted a knot in his gut. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though.

“Would you like to stay in the master bedroom?” Barbara asked. “I’ve got it ready for you.”

Since that room had been the one his father had shared with Desiree, and then hers alone, he wouldn’t feel comfortable in there. “No, I think I’ll stay in my own bedroom, the one I used as a kid.”

After his folks had split up, Jake lived with his dad, who insisted upon spending every weekend at the ranch to give his city-boy son a wholesome dose of reality.

There’d been some good times, Jake supposed, remembering the old fishing hole, horseback riding. But there’d been chores, too. Mucking out stalls, shoveling horse manure.

“Consider them character-building tasks,” his father had often said.

At the time Jake had been skeptical. He still was, he supposed.

As Mrs. Davies closed the door behind him, he was pulled from the nostalgic past and forced back to the awkward present.

He scanned the living room, the leather furniture, the oak and glass-topped tables and shelves, the stone fireplace with its rough-hewn mantel, the colorful Southwestern art on white plastered walls. Desiree had redecorated when she’d moved in, but she hadn’t changed much since then.

“From what I understand,” the housekeeper said, “your old room is just the way you left it. I dust it twice a week, and although the sheets are clean, the bedding needs to be freshened. I’ll do that later this morning.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I take pride in my work,” she said. “And it’s no trouble at all.”

The warm aroma of cinnamon and spice drifted in from the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d only had an espresso earlier. “Something sure smells good.”

Mrs. Davies beamed. “It’s the zucchini muffins in the oven. Desiree told me you liked them. And they’re almost ready.”

How would Desiree have known that? he wondered. Had he mentioned it to her once? If so, it was odd that she’d remember. And that she’d pass that tidbit of information along.

On the other hand, he didn’t have a clue as to what kind of things Desiree had liked. He’d never noticed, never cared. And although it hadn’t bothered him before, he felt a bit remiss right now.

“I’ve made a lemon meringue pie, too,” the housekeeper added.

Another favorite of Jake’s.

It was as though Desiree was trying hard to make him feel welcomed, yet instead her efforts—or rather her predeath orders—only made him…uneasy. And undeserving.

“It’s pretty quiet in here,” he said, trying his best to shrug off his discomfort.

“Everyone else is still asleep.”

He glanced at his watch—10:07 a.m. Apparently, Chloe was a night owl. A lot of prima donnas were. He hoped that kind of attitude didn’t rub off on his little sister.

“How’s Brianna doing?” he asked.

“Last night was a bit rough. She had a crying spell, then had a difficult time falling asleep. Chloe read to her until at least eleven, which is when I finally turned in.”

Okay, so maybe he’d been wrong about the prima donna thing—at least, last night.

At the sound of footsteps padding along the hallway, Jake spotted Chloe entering the living room wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and low-riding sweatpants.

She yawned, then ran a hand through her tousled hair, an acrylic nail snagging on a rumpled red curl.

Seeing her like that, fresh out of bed, was more arousing that he cared to admit. And even though she was fairly well covered, she looked as sexy as hell, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He wanted to suggest she go back and put on a robe, but wouldn’t. No need for her to suspect the kind of effect she had on him.

“Good morning,” the housekeeper said, her voice as tight as the rubber band in a cocked and primed slingshot. “Now that you’re up, I’ll put on a pot of coffee and whip up some breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “I’m not much of an eater in the morning, but I’d love a cup of coffee.”

When they were alone, Jake set his bags on the floor and crossed his arms. It was time to lay it on the line, to find out what Chloe’s thoughts were about all of this and what he was up against. “I imagine that you aren’t any happier about things than I am.”

Chloe met his stare, lifting her chin a little. “You’re right.” She wasn’t at all pleased about leaving her dance studio and relying on someone else to look after her rental properties. And she wasn’t especially comfortable living in someone else’s house and having a live-in housekeeper/cook, either.

Mrs. Davies was nice enough, but she had an innate way of lifting her nose and arching a brow whenever Chloe did or said anything she considered unconventional. And since Chloe never paid much attention to social mores, the older woman’s nose and brow seemed to be in constant motion.

Then, to make matters worse, she had to deal with a man who was too conservative for his own good, a man she suspected would try to control her every chance he got.

She strode toward the cream-colored leather sofa and sat on the armrest. “But do you know what? If I had asked Desiree to make a sacrifice for me, she wouldn’t have thought twice about doing so.”

Jake didn’t respond.

“And whether you believe it or not,” Chloe added, “Desiree would have done the same for you.”

“We weren’t that close,” he said.

“I know. And I’m sorry for your loss. It was huge.”