Heartstrings (9 page)

“Hi,” she shyly said as she dismounted the big sorrel. Her worn boots hit the hard dirt and sent up a cloud of dust. She was a regular little cowgirl angel.

His little cowgirl angel. The song he was struggling with suddenly flew out of his mind as an even better string of lyrics and melodies played in his mind.

He swallowed hard and found his voice. “Hey, sunshine. Nice morning for a ride.”

She looked around and nodded. “Yeah. I like to ride along the river.”

“Your mom know you’re down here?”

She nodded and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I like to ride after we get home from church.” Jutting her chin toward his guitar, she asked, “I thought I heard music.”

He glanced at the instrument. “Yeah, I’m writing a new song.” As he stuck his thumbs into his belt loops, he faced her again. “Or at least I’m trying to. It’s not going very well. Do you write?”

She blushed and averted her eyes. “A little, but I’m not any good.”

“Can’t be as bad as my first attempts. I actually wrote a song about that rock and tree over there.” He pointed to the boulder his guitar leaned against and the tree shading it.

She laughed and folded her arms loosely in front of her. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head and grinned. Good, she’d seemed to relax a little. “Nope. I was about thirteen, I think. I’d written a lot of songs while sitting under that tree.”

“How long have you been out here?”

Shrugging, he lifted his hat and wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Since about eight, but I think I may soon head back. I forgot how hot it gets in August.”

The heat had nothing to do with his nerves and the sweat gathering between his shoulder blades.

Her smile sagged a little. “Oh, I probably should be going then. I’ll see you around.”

She turned to mount her horse.

“Emily.” She looked back at him. He rubbed his goatee and cleared his throat. “I said soon. Not now. Want to sit with me for a little while? Maybe you can help me with this crazy song. I’m having trouble with the chorus.”

A blinding grin replaced her frown. “You want to write a song with me?”

“Yeah. Let’s see what we can come up with.”

Time seemed to fly as he picked out the melody on the guitar and sang what he had already. She sat on the ground by his feet and patted her thigh with the beat. She’d add a word here and there, or make suggestions about phrasing, once she’d lost her shyness.

They struggled with the last line of the bridge. Nothing Seth came up with matched the meter he’d set for the song. She hummed the bridge a few times. Frustration furrowed her brow. “It’s almost there.”

“Here.” He unclipped his guitar strap and handed the instrument to her. “Play it and see if that helps.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, then at the guitar. “You’re gonna let me play your guitar?”

Shrugging, he looped the strap around her neck. She gingerly took the one-of-a-kind Gibson as if it were the most precious thing in the world. He smiled and clipped the strap to the neck. “Yep. Because you’re gonna help me get this danged thing done.”

Her freckled face shimmered as she strummed down the strings. She looked up at him.

Would she feel the same awe when she found out he was her father?

Dear God, the tight squeeze in his chest was back. Her very existence sent a thrill through him every time he thought about it.

Emily studied the strings a second, then played and sang the song from the beginning. She glanced at the notebook and hummed the end of the bridge where there needed to be words to finish the thought. Then she sang,

“
Flowers fade, seasons change,

But I’ll always be traveling the long road home.”

The tingling in his chest was back. “That’s perfect.

The whine of an engine invaded the peacefulness. As the noise grew closer from the east, their horses lifted their heads from grazing and perked their ears.

Seth stood and looked down the riverbank. The sun had long ago climbed the sky and clouds moved in to cover the blue expanse. He glanced at his watch. Shit, it was well past one. The driver of the Gator didn’t surprise him.

Abby stopped in the middle of the trail and marched toward them. She glared at him, then turned to Emily. “Do you have any idea what time it is? I was worried sick.”

Emily glanced at him and carefully slipped the leather strap from around her neck. “I’m sorry, Momma.”

“I lost track of time. I’m sorry you were worried.” He took the guitar from Emily and held it in one hand.

Abby huffed out a breath and headed toward the Gator. “C’mon, Emily, I have things I need to get done.”

Emily gave him a small smile, but her eyes held disappointment. “I had fun today.”

“Me too.” He patted her shoulder and jutted his head toward her horse. “Why don’t you ride back with your mom? I’ll follow behind with your horse.”

She glanced at Abby, who sat stick-straight on the worn seat of the dust-covered cart with a motor. When Emily met his gaze again, she nodded. “Okay.”

A half-hour later, he rode out of the pasture behind Abby’s barn, led Emily’s mare into the stable and unsaddled her. He searched until he found a brush, then rubbed the mare down and gave her a ration of oats in a bucket. He let her out into the pasture as Abby marched across the driveway toward him.

Damn, did the woman ever just walk? He rested a hand on the doorframe above his head and waited for her to unleash the storm brewing in the clouds swirling in her eyes.

She pushed past him into the relative coolness of the barn and turned to face him. Her fists were propped on the curve of her hips. His gaze stuck on the cutoff denim shorts and the long toned legs below the frayed edges. Her tennis shoes were set apart in a tense stance.

He dragged his eyes back up her body and smiled. Her soft curves were a welcome treat when compared to the supermodel walking skeletons he normally hooked up with. “You know, time has definitely treated you well.”

Hell, he hadn’t intended to put voice to the thought.

When she narrowed her eyes into flashing slits, he would’ve sworn he heard thunder roll somewhere over the prairie beyond the river. “I told you to stay away from Emily.”

He dropped his hand from the frame and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. “What do you think was going on out there? Some clandestine meeting?” Forget it, the calm and cool way wasn’t going to survive this storm. He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step toward her. She glared up at him, and he peered down at her. “I was already there. She rode by and stopped. I am sorry you were worried, but damn it, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She said she helped you write a song.”

“Yes. She helped me salvage a song I was about to give up on. Our daughter has talent, Abby.”

She looked past him, stepping closer. “She isn’t your daughter.”

“I never signed my rights away and I never will. Remember what I said. All I want is to get to know my child.”

Before she could say anything else, he walked out of the barn and mounted his horse. Storm clouds had rolled in within the past forty-five minutes and the thunder was coming closer.

He’d have to haul ass to get back to the Double K before the heavy gray clouds let loose their fury.

As he cut across Abby’s pasture to the old trail leading to the Double K, he thought of the awe in Emily’s eyes. Something had to give, or the storm he’d unleash by going to a lawyer might lay waste to more than just the land.

Chapter 4

Seth paused on the road and looked up at the wooden arch proclaiming the name of the ranch in bold black lettering–a
K
with another
K
formed from the bottom leg. The name of the thousand-acre ranch came from his great-great-grandfather, Christopher “Kit” Kendall.

Live oaks lined up along the drive like guards raising their sabers to form an arch. His mother had felt like a prisoner here. Would he too, if he inherited the ranch? As he got closer to the house, a weight settled on him. He’d never wanted to be a rancher. Could he seriously be considering becoming one now? As he looked over the house and the pastures around it, he wanted this place more than anything.

Or did he? Was it really the ranch he wanted, or just a sense of having a home? Of being part of a family?

The white clapboard two-story house with dark green gingerbread trim and louvered shutters didn’t offer any answer. He and Abby had often sat on the swing hanging from the porch rafters, pouring out their frustration over their troubled young lives.

Abby.

Since his two run-ins with her over the weekend, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He looked to the east. Her three-hundred-acre ranch bordered the Double K. Next to her was the Circle R. After the accident, which took her mother’s life and left her father wheelchair-bound, Seth’s father had offered to buy Crawford Creek. But Charlie Crawford had refused to sell because thirteen-year-old Abby wouldn’t hear of it. She had always loved that place.

He was glad she got the ranch back as part of her divorce settlement. The Ritters hadn’t deserved the ranch any more than John Kendall had.

He parked beside Judge Ritter’s pickup in front of the detached garage.

Stopping at the front door, he took a deep breath and pulled the hat from his head. When he couldn’t stall any longer, he rang the doorbell. A moment later, Johanna opened the door.

She smiled and moved back, allowing him entry. “I wondered if you were going to show up.”

He stepped past her into the entry and checked his watch. “You told me ten o’clock. It’s ten o’clock. I’d call that being right on time.” He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “But I’d bet my record deal if the old man was here, he’d be hoping I wouldn’t show up.”

Johanna stiffened and stepped away with a disapproving frown puckering her brow. “Seth Christopher, that is no way to talk about your dead father. God rest his soul.”

He shrugged and looked around the entry. A curved oak staircase wound up to the second floor. The morning sun blazed through the windows and glared off the faded floral wallpaper.

With a sigh, he shifted his hat from one hand to the other. “Maybe not. But I can’t help but feel that way. He ran me off with a shotgun when I came home after getting my record deal. Made it pretty clear he hated me.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist and started moving toward the study. Outside the door, she stopped and met his gaze. “Seth, John loved you. I know he hurt you, and I’ll never fully forgive him for the way he treated you. But there are things involved that he never quite resolved in his own head.”

Snorting, he looked down at his hat. “He wondered if I was really his kid because Mom cheated on him the same time she got pregnant.”

She sucked in a breath. “How do you know about that?”

“So, it’s true?” He snapped his narrowed gaze to lock on hers. “I thought maybe it was a dream. I overheard Mom and Dad fighting the night before she died, but I sometimes don’t know what’s real and what I’ve imagined since then.”

Johanna tightened her hold on him and stared up at him with eyes swimming in tears. One slipped past and rolled down her pale, finely lined cheek. “Yes, there was a time right before she died, he wondered because he found out Suzie had been with someone else.”

“Who was he?”

She looked away and closed her eyes. Another tear slipped past.

“Jesus.” Clarity jolted through him. “She was with someone you cared about?”

Opening her eyes, she nodded. “Yes. My husband. But you don’t belong to Buck Tomlin.”

He couldn’t have been more shocked than if a bull had mauled him right here in the house. Johanna had been married to the fiddle player in his grandfather’s band–his mother’s band?

She squeezed him in her one-armed hug as he swallowed hard. “You have to understand, Suzie never wanted to live here. Your grandfather insisted she marry John when he found out she was pregnant.”

“When did Dad find out about her and Buck?”

She glanced at the back of her left hand. Was she imagining her wedding band? “The day before she died. John found a letter Buck had written in answer to one she’d sent to him just days before her wedding. She wanted him to come forward and claim you as his baby so she could get out of marrying John. But he refused because he swore he couldn’t make a baby–which I’m about a hundred present sure he couldn’t. At least, I never got pregnant during the two years we were together. We divorced the year you were born. Mainly because I found out about his affair with your mother–along with other women. But I never told John about him being with Suzie. I knew it would have broken his heart.”