Cowboy Lullaby (The Boones of Texas 6)

Chapter One

“Lynnie would be spitting nails if she knew everyone in town had been here with the house looking this way.” Tandy stood in the front parlor, surveying the room. Her massive dog, Banshee, sat at her side.

Most of the residents of Fort Kyle had already left, leaving casseroles, desserts and treats to cover Lynnie’s kitchen counters and tables. Not that there was anyone left to eat them. Still, it’s what folks did—bring food, visit, share memories that honored the recently deceased.

Tandy swallowed hard. It was difficult to accept Lynnie was gone. She’d been such a strong spirit, and Tandy couldn’t imagine life without her.

Walking into Lynnie Hale’s house was like stepping back in time. Any second now, she expected Lynnie to walk around the corner—wearing her favorite apron, with a welcoming smile on her face and stories to tell.

A wave of nostalgia rolled over Tandy. This had been the place she’d been happiest. Seeing it empty and quiet was plain wrong. She ran her fingers along the fine layer of dust on Lynnie’s upright piano, a sure sign the older woman hadn’t been home in some time. If she had, her piano would have stayed clean and neat. Lynnie Hale was—had been—fiercely and unapologetically house proud. To have the people of Fort Kyle here seeing her home and treasures in anything less than perfect condition would make Lynnie ashamed.

She hurried into the kitchen to find her cousins, Scarlett and Renata, covering food and storing it in the refrigerator.

“Anyone left?” Renata asked her.

“A few of her friends are still chatting in the living room. I think everyone else has cleared out,” she answered, offering them both a smile.

“Can we clean now?” Scarlett asked.

“Bothering you, too?” Tandy asked. “I kept imagining her, how mad she’d be.”

Renata nodded. “I only wish we could have set the place to rights before all of Fort Kyle came by.”

Tandy nodded. No point wishing what could have been. “We can fix it now,” she said, collecting a trash bag.

They cleared away the used dishes, stopping to chat with Lynnie’s closest friends now and then. When the dishes were gone, Tandy pulled out a duster, wood polish and an old rag and got to work. Banshee trailed after her, her constant shadow. Renata was sweeping, and Scarlett took the trash out.

Grief sat heavy on her chest, but Tandy fought it. Lynnie wouldn’t want tears or despair, she’d want laughter. Better to think about the dozens of homemade cookies, muffins, pies and breads they’d made in Lynnie’s kitchen, the sticky-sweet jams or veggies they’d canned, or the hours upon hours Tandy and her cousins had spent playing the piano and singing at the top of their lungs. Lynnie wasn’t kin, but she’d welcomed Tandy and her cousins into her home as if they were. Whenever they wandered onto her property—which was often—she’d gone out of her way to carve out time for them. So much love. And laughter. And music. Always music.

Lynnie’s place was comfort and love, laughter and songs, and family.

Tandy surveyed her work, satisfied.

She turned her attention to the framed photos decorating the wall behind the piano. She ran the feather duster around each frame, each image a familiar glimpse at the woman they’d lost. Lynnie, tall and thin, in a handful of committees and board photos. Lynnie with her prized preserves, judging livestock shows and riding drag rider at the rear of a cattle drive. There were pictures of those Lynnie loved there, too. Tandy’s picture was there, young and smiling, with Scarlett and Renata.

And Click. She studied his smile. Those blue-green eyes had made the world a better place. But that had been a long time ago.

Aaron “Click” Hale was part of her past. That’s where he needed to stay. Her cheeks grew hot, her chest heavy. He’d turn up soon. Of course he would. For Lynnie. They were kin, through thick and thin.

I can do this.

Tandy headed back into the kitchen to stow her cleaning supplies. Inside her well-organized pantry hung Lynnie’s collection of aprons. Some she’d made, some she’d bought and some were gifts. A rainbow of colors and shapes. Some were practical, the ones Lynnie wore daily. Others were pure silliness—with ruffles and sparkles and silly sayings. Still, Lynnie had held on to them.

Lynnie’s favorite, blue calico and patched so many times the original fabric was suspect, hung aside. Tandy stroked the soft fabric, drawing in an unsteady breath. I will miss you so, Lynnie.

“Tandy?” Scarlett called out. “I’m putting on a pot of coffee for Widow Riley. Want some?”

Tandy closed the pantry, shutting away the memories and sadness that followed. “Sure.”

“Think she’d be satisfied?” Renata asked, hanging the broom on its hook by the back door. Her blue eyes scrutinized their hurried cleaning efforts.

Tandy giggled. “I can hear her now. ‘Dust is just a country accent.’ Wasn’t that it?”

Scarlett and Renata laughed. It was true. In West Texas, dust was part of the decorating. Best you could do was keep it to a minimum. They’d done that.