by Tori Kayson
Darby scanned her childhood memory for a single occasion when people packed their spotless kitchen, when laughter and the wonderful aroma of food permeated the air. Where it wasn’t just her, parked at the counter alone, scarfing down a sandwich. Glancing at the clock, ticking down the hours until her mother came home from the hospital, exhausted from hours of surgeries and pleading for a few minutes alone.
Nothing. Not. One. Single. Time.
She fisted the garbled gasp that gurgled up from her throat and pivoted to stare out the back window, hugging her chest.
Some things couldn’t be pieced back together. Like her parents’ marriage. Some people never belonged together in the first place. But, a funeral had put an end to those childhood wishes.
A crow cawed off in the distance, and shadows lengthened around the barn. Why was she wasting daylight?
“Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Kester. I’ll head that way.” She drew a deep breath and slid through the opening, practically jogging down the steps. When she reached the gravel driveway, she stretched for a few minutes, and then took off toward the barn, the tiniest of breezes kissing her cheeks.
Alone.
She knew all about that, didn’t she?
§
Could the evening get any better?
Fargo rubbed his bulging stomach, his gaze sliding over the empty paper plates and the half full containers of strawberries and macaroni salad. They hadn’t made a dent in those, but they’d scarfed down all the fried chicken except for one piece.
His son stretched out, an elbow propped on the blanket, chin in palm. His other hand held a book in place.
Hope and Charity meandered near the bank, occasionally wading into the lake, but mostly sniffing along the shoreline. Behaving, for now at least.
Jayce wouldn’t be lazing on the blanket much longer.
Not after Fargo pulled out the water guns. His lips curled up in one corner, and he tamped down the chuckle that threatened to erupt.
From the time Jayce was a couple of years old, he’d made it a habit to spend time with his son at the lake on Friday nights. His mom packed a giant picnic basket, always cramming it with more food and goodies than two people could possibly consume.
Chill time, Jayce called their Friday night getaways. A couple hours, away from barn and household chores. A chance to unwind from the week, and to catch up on what was happening in his son’s life. Sometimes they fished or worked on Jayce’s homework together. Their conversations ranged from random stuff to focused topics. But other times they were content just to soak up the quiet. Like tonight.
Fargo shifted on the blanket and settled back against a burly tree trunk, casting a wistful glance at this poetry notebook. Later, after he’d rested and Jayce was asleep, he’d write. He locked arms over his chest and finally gave in to the urge to rest his eyes, his muscles testifying to the long, grueling week.
His exhaustion wasn’t from dealing with the cantankerous bulls. No, he blamed a certain coffee-eyed beauty for a sleepless night. Her, and that laughter that sounded like a sunbeam straight from heaven.
He swatted a pesky fly off his nose and snorted his irritation. The exec was off limits. And that worked just fine for him. He had no business going all sweet and soft for a big wig in the oil industry. Someone accustomed to fast-paced life in big cities and the hefty salary that bought the fancy heels and high powered suits necessary for a job at that level.
Definitely not ranch material.
Nope. She was too involved, too caught up in her job to enjoy peace and quiet like this. That much was obvious from her early morning phone call. Couldn’t she see that there was more to life than oil or climbing the corporate ladder?
If he was ever in the market for a wife, and he wasn’t saying he was, just to put this notion to bed once and for all, it would be to a woman like his mother. A woman who flourished in wide open spaces and didn’t panic because the closest mall was a hundred miles away. Who valued family over career, even after her own kids had grown, and was generous with her time and her hugs. A woman who never minded sticky hands wrapped around her neck or sloppy toddler kisses. Of course, his son was way past that stage, but sometimes he dreamed about having another one, or even a dainty little girl—
He gave his head a less than gentle jerk back and forth to derail that train of thought and scrubbed his jaw. Shoot the deuce, Kester. You’re a glutton for punishment, for sure. How dumb to be daydreaming of babies and drooling over a high-powered corporate big wig.
Like he’d ever have a chance to woo someone like Darby. More than likely the only interest she’d ever have for him would be the oil under his ranch.
He huffed. Sometimes life just didn’t play fair. As much as he hated to admit it, Darby was the first woman to snag his attention since Jennie, Jayce’s mother.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
His lids flashed open.
Jayce shifted, still cradling his baby smooth jaw in his palm. His son’s brows arched and concern etched his still boyish face.
“Not a thing, son. Just tired is all,” he reassured. Tired and stupid.
“Good thing it’s chill time. Right, Dad?” Jayce confirmed with a smile and then refocused on the book.
“Yeah.” What were they doing moping around tonight? He knew just what they needed to crank their motors.
He scooted upright, dug through the bag, and pulled out the water blasters. He aimed at Jayce’s back. Fired.
“What—?” Jayce’s head whipped around.
Fargo brandished the weapon and pinged a short blast at Jayce’s chest just to rile him.
Jayce’s eyes rounded wider than the strawberries they’d just eaten. He plucked the other blaster off the blanket and dived behind a downed log.
“Think that’s going to keep you from getting wet?” Fargo taunted, grinning. “Not hardly.”
A stream of water landed square on his chest. Fargo glanced down at his soaked shirt. Maybe he should take cover. He surveyed the surroundings and spotted a bush. That’d work.
They volleyed water launches back and forth, Jayce’s giggles and the dogs’ excited yips drowning out the other nighttime sounds.
Suddenly, Hope barked, a shrill warning sound, and Charity chimed in, their bodies stiffening from playful into alert mode.
Fargo stopped shooting and cocked an ear for what might have alarmed the dogs.
Twigs snapped and footsteps pounded the ground at a rapid pace. A runner.
Hope’s demeanor changed, transforming from alert to excited, his bark high-pitched and his tail swishing through the air with frantic energy. The canine charged the path to welcome the runner and disappeared. Charity followed, just as eager.
Probably Kierra. She came out to the lake sometimes to swim with them. And by now, she probably needed to escape the houseful of guests.
Fargo relaxed his spine, the sudden spike and release of adrenaline leaving him even more drained than before. But, he couldn’t let this opportunity for a little sibling fun go to waste. He aimed the gun for the clearing and positioned his finger over the trigger.
Jayce had gone quiet as well. Probably doing the same thing.
But it wasn’t his sister who rounded the corner, the last of the sun’s rays hiding her until she came into focus.
No, it was…
Darby?
Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a careless knot and wispy tendrils framed her rosy cheeks. Her pink— what did Kierra call that color? Magenta? —silky running shorts showed off long, tanned muscular legs. With every pump of her arms, the thin material of her halter-top strained against firm feminine curves.
Lord, have mercy! Didn’t the woman know summer hadn’t officially arrived yet? Couldn’t she cover up a bit?
His pulse thundered, galloping through his head like a runaway stallion while his lungs rebelled. His jaw dropped, and heaven help him, he gawked at the angelic vision in front of him, lowering the gun to dangle against his leg.
&
nbsp; Not Jayce.
A stream of water bounced off her face and puddled on her top. Her coffee warm eyes widened. Her long legged stride faltered. She flicked the moist bullet off with her palm and assessed the situation.
Would she keep running? Scold them for wetting her…um, shirt?
She halted a few feet away from his bunker zone and bent over at the waist, bracing her forearms against those legs, slick with sweat. Her breaths came out in short pants.
“Make room,” she wheezed, sliding behind the same bush he used for cover.
She might be catching her breath, but she was stealing his.
“Hey. I’m sorry for…invading…your space,” she panted, unleashing those gorgeous brown eyes in his direction. “Where is the little scoundrel?”
It took him a few seconds to finally drag in the precious air necessary to regain normal bodily functions…like breathing, especially when her shoulder brushed his and her enchanting scent, an intoxicating blend of jasmine, fruit and spring meadows settled over him like hot fudge drizzled over a sundae.
“No problem.” Or was it? His galloping pulse indicated otherwise. He flicked his head toward the log where Jayce holed up.
“Mind if I borrow that?” She gestured to his water gun.
“Be my guest.” He handed it over, intrigued that the lady wanted to join in their fun. And more than a bit scared, to be truthful.
She tipped it up and fired, nailing Jayce’s cowboy hat clean off his head. Granted, it was oversized, but the woman aimed to win.
“Hey!” Jayce hollered, leaving the security of his log to snatch his hat off the ground.
She hammered him again, this time draining the gun.
“Whoa! Great shot!” Now he wished he’d brought along a third shooter, but who would’ve guessed?
“I surrender!” Jayce stepped into the clearing, his arms lifted high, denims and shirt soaked. Water even dripped from his chin.
“Should I trust him?” Those coffee warm eyes landed on him, steady as a laser beam and just as accurate.
If he was a betting man, he’d wager a hundred head of cattle that her words were really meant for him.
Had he swallowed all the dust in the whole state of Texas? He cleared his throat, met her challenge. “Totally.”
“All right, then.” She stretched to her full height, tugged those silk shorts further south, and high-fived Jayce.
He gulped and forced his legs into action, spearing his son with a glance.
Jayce’s jaw hung slack, his wide eyes plastered to the wet fabric hugging Darby’s skin.
Fargo sighed. This little encounter was bound to prompt another healthy discussion about male and female differences. He nudged his son with an elbow. “Jayce?”
“Yeah?” Jayce gave his head a little rattle, but didn’t look toward his father. No, his son’s gaze slid upward to study the woman’s face. Etches lined his forehead.
“We were just chilling, right, son?”
“Yeah. Chill time. Water fight.”
So maybe he wasn’t the only one at a loss for words and more than a little off balance by this playful side of Darby. But it didn’t seem that Jayce minded the interruption to their peaceful evening.
His son’s brows bunched together. “Hey…you were the lady in our yard!”
She nodded, smiling. Her long legs moved forward until her bright pink sneakers jutted in front of Jayce’s boots. “Jayce, right?”
Jayce’s jaw dropped as if she’d pulled his name out of the air by magic. Awe radiated from his son’s face as he nodded, still mute.
Fargo shook his head, apologizing with a roll of his eyes.
Darby pinged a smile his way and extended a hand to his son. “I’m Darby Brewster.”
“I thought you were my aunt. I’m sorry for soaking you.”
Fargo rubbed his jaw to cover the chuckle that almost escaped his throat. He might have let it rip if he was certain that same doe-eyed expression didn’t glaze his own face.
“Want to sit down and chill with us?” Jayce asked, his voice and the slight lift of his chin reaching for nonchalant, as if it didn’t matter if she said no, but it came off more as a little boy plea.
Lady, if you hurt my son— Fargo crossed his arms, shielding his eyes under his Stetson, expecting Jayce to get a sharp rebuff from the high falutin—
“Sure.”
His head whipped up at the easy assent.
That was a mistake. She moved past him, headed for the blanket, her sweet scent swirling around his nose like a floral caress. He blew out another breath. Could he hold it the entire time she was here?
She angled around and glanced at him, her gaze somewhat shy and mellow, not at all conceited or full of herself, what he expected. Dark brows lifted high on her forehead as if asking permission.
He nodded.
Her full lips rounded in the corners, and she dropped to the blanket, curling those incredibly long legs underneath a cute rump, those satiny running shorts clinging to her shape, highlighting every glorious curve.
Lord, have mercy. He’d never be able to hold his breath that long.
§
Darby settled on a tiny patch in a corner of the fabric, as far from Fargo as possible. Maybe that way she could ignore the way his forest green eyes, hiding underneath that massive Stetson, pinned her to the hard ground with their soul-deep intensity. If she lost herself in his gaze, she might never find her way out again.
As if she’d ever want to find her way out.
But she refused to steer down Heartbreak Highway again. What was the point investing what little time she had available only to have her heart crushed? Besides, he really didn’t know who she was, why she was here.
He lowered his brawny six-foot plus frame back on the blanket in a single athletic movement, the muscles in his sculpted thighs clearly straining against his faded jeans. Jayce scrambled to sit next to his dad. The dogs head-butted each other, their cool snouts brushing her bare arm as they battled for her attention.
She ran her fingers along the soft fur on Hope’s back then Charity’s, doing her best to ignore the way her pulse thundered in her head and how her blood galloped through her veins in response to Fargo’s scent, a mixture of hard work, cedar trees, fresh air, and…cinnamon?
She hadn’t caught her breath fully yet from her run. That’s why he affected her so. She took a deep breath, willing her lungs to cooperate, and shuttered her eyelids, closing out the world and concentrating only on what she could hear or smell. A simple, yet effective technique her nanny had taught her when she questioned why her mom and dad never had time for her.
The dogs’ contented pants. Tangy pine from the trees. The fresh, cleansing aroma of the lake. That, and…chicken? Much better. She could deal with that.
Her tummy roared. Her eyelids lifted, and her palm shot to cover her stomach. “Wow, I’m sorry to let the beast out of the cage. I guess I should have eaten before I left.” Ha! Like that would drown out the giant bellow, which seemed to reverberate off the lake.
Jayce erupted in giggles, hunching over with a hand clapped against his waist, and Fargo’s hearty chuckle joined his son’s.
Darby smiled and leaned back, pressing her palms against the smooth fabric, the sounds of their amusement and the soft breeze that tickled her cheeks soothing and refreshing. Now that her hands were busy elsewhere, Hope and Charity took off, their snouts to the ground as they followed some enticing new scent.
Finally, Jayce’s giggles subsided with a hiccup.
“We might be able to calm that beast. We have some chicken left. Would you like a…” Fargo’s deep voice trailed off, his handsome face flushing to the bright shade of a tomato.
“A breast, Dad. That’s all that’s left, remember?” Jayce’s voice, so sweet and childlike compared to Fargo’s, picked up where his father left off, his tone not indicating that the subject was the least awkward. “But we have plenty of macaroni salad and strawberries—”
A g
uttural moan sounded to her left. Fargo’s chin dropped to his chest, his huge hat hiding his expression.
“—and blondies for dessert,” Jayce concluded, digging around in the basket. His arm shot up, his fingers dangling a bag of goodies.
Another groan from Fargo.
She smiled at the man’s obvious discomfort. “Sounds and smells yummy, Jayce. Thank you for offering to share your dinner. But you’re a mighty big guy just like your dad. Are you sure you’ve eaten enough?”
Fargo’s wide brim lifted, revealing the clearest, deepest, most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. So lush, so rich.
So dangerous! He should carry a warning. Hazardous to a woman’s pulse.
Was that appreciation gleaming from his eyes? Fargo cleared his throat and tore his gaze away, busying himself with scooping out macaroni salad on a paper plate.
“Yep. I’m full to the brim,” Jayce said, puffing out his chest. He rubbed his belly and stretched out his skinny legs, so long and out of proportion with the rest of his body, except for his feet, judging by the size of the massive boots he wore.
“All the way from your boots to your hat, huh?” She teased with a smile.
He nodded. “That’s so. Ain’t it, Dad?”
“Isn’t.”
Jayce cocked his head to the side, his brow bunching as he stared at his father. “Huh?”
“Isn’t. Not ‘ain’t.’” Fargo plopped the sole piece of chicken on the plate with a pointed glance at his son.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Jayce took off his hat and scratched his head.
“No problem. But you wouldn’t want our new friend here to think you didn’t learn anything at school, would you?” Fargo said, and handed her a plate, napkin, and a set of plastic utensils. This time the cowboy’s eyes glinted with something she couldn’t identify.
His work-roughened fingers grazed hers, and tingles prickled along her arm.
“Thanks,” she whispered, barely corralling the tremor of awareness that rocketed through her torso. What was wrong with her? Mercy! It was a simple picnic, not a date!
“Some days I wonder,” Jayce drawled.
Fargo broke the connection to glare at his son.