The Rancher's Dance by Allison Leigh

after her cousin was long gone, she kept checking the road for signs of Beck.
    Eventually, she told herself she was being ridiculous and made herself stop. She’d dressed in her usual workout clothes—stretchy camisole and dance pants—when she’d finally made it up the stairs that morning. After having slept on the couch all night with her knee elevated on a pillow, it had settled down so well that she’d been able to go up and down the stairs with very little difficulty at all.
    She filled a water bottle, grabbed her cell phone and headed across her freshly mowed grass toward the old barn that was situated closest to the house.
    It was there that her father had put together a virtual at-home rehab unit when she’d been twelve, and the very basic notion of walking again had been nearly out of reach. All of the equipment was still there, situated in a partioned area that consumed half of the barn’s space along with a portable dance floor that she’d had installed herself nearly ten years ago. Neither were exactly state-of-the-art, but everything was perfectly maintained and perfectly serviceable for Lucy’s purposes.
    There was a boom box that was as old as she was stored on the shelves that her father had built, alongside fat, folded tumbling mats and towels that—when she plucked one off the stack—smelled freshly laundered.
    Which meant, she thought with a vague smile, that Belle was probably still using the barn as a workout space. Her father had never needed to use equipment or weights to stay in shape, not when he had an entire ranch as his workout arena.
    She plugged in the boom box, popped in a random CD from the stack of them on the shelf and dragged down one of the thick mats, flipping it out in the center of the floor in front of the mirror that lined one wall.
    Then, with the sound of some New Agey music that Belle must have chosen filling the lofty space, Lucy got down to work.
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    It was the music that got his attention. More specifically, it got Shelby’s attention, which meant that Beck couldn’t just ignore it because he figured it was coming from the dancer anyway.
    He somehow doubted that Caleb Buchanan was the one responsible for the lush orchestration of some classical music that his mind recognized even if he couldn’t identify the composer.
    It had been a hectic morning, not helped by the fact that the leader of Shelby’s day camp had come down sick and cancelled the day. And Stan had an AA meeting over in Braden that he attended every week on Friday mornings, after which he was driving down to Cheyenne to pick up Nick, who was flying in that afternoon from Princeton.
    The second Beck parked the truck where he usually did near the house, Shelby hopped out, clutching Gertrude the rabbit. Like a dog scenting game, his daughter jerked her head around as she listened for the source of the music. “What’s that?”
    â€œSounds like music to me.” He grabbed the bag of books and toys he’d pulled together to keep her entertained, thenlifted his toolbox from the truck bed and went around the truck to her. “Come on.” He touched the top of her silky head. “I’m working around the back of the house.”
    Once he had her situated in the shade nearby, he figured he could get in at least a good hour or two before the afternoon was spent. The trick, he knew, was to make sure Shelby stayed occupied. Because once she got bored, there was no way he’d be able to get any real work accomplished.
    â€œIt’s coming from over there,” Shelby whispered. She was squinting into the sunlight as she pointed her finger toward the older of the two barns.
    The only reason Beck knew what the barn contained was because half of the building supplies he’d ordered for the project were stored there until he’d need them.
    He had an image of Lucy hobbling her way from the house over to the barn and felt his nerves