by Tori Kayson
Uh oh. Jayce hadn’t sounded defiant. More like he was making an observation.
She scooped some macaroni salad into her mouth. Should she butt in…or leave?
“It’s true. You teach me more at home, Dad.” Jayce turned pleading eyes on his father. “Why can’t I be homeschooled?”
“We’ve been through this before, Jayce. I can’t spare the time from the ranch to teach you every day. Especially not since Gramps—” Fargo stopped speaking and a lump slid down his whiskered neck. His head dipped, his hat shielding the pain she’d just glimpsed.
Obviously, Gramps’s death was still too painful and raw for him to discuss. Maybe it was time for that interruption. And definitely time to dig up that portfolio. The more she got to know the Kester family, the more she wanted to know the particulars.
Who was she kidding? She wanted the rundown on this hunky cowboy. Was he separated? Divorced? What happened to Jayce’s mother? Was there a significant other in his life?
Hold your horses there, future Ms. VP. You’re here for a job. Did you forget that? If you don’t snag the deal, you lose the position. That means no falling for the handsome cowboy. No wishing for…
A sniffle snagged her attention. Her gaze swung between the two cowboys, settling on Jayce.
The boy’s lips quivered, and he swiped an arm across red-rimmed eyes. The kid was doing his best not to fall apart.
Aww! Poor boy! Her heart melted into a puddle right there on the blanket. She dabbed the bottom of her nose with the crook of an index finger and then swiped it under her eye.
…a family, with a tenderhearted son just like Jayce. A real home with two parents, devoted to him and one another.
Sheesh! Stop the runaway horse! She still didn’t even know if the cowboy was attached. She forced words past the giant lump clogging her throat, her fingertips crinkling the edge of the paper plate. “It’s a beautiful night for a picnic.”
“We come here every Friday night. Don’t we, Dad?” Jayce’s gaze speared his father, apparently eager to change the subject and willing his father to do the same.
Fargo lifted his head and nodded, but didn’t look at her. No, he seemed to be looking everywhere but her…the pond, the dogs, even peering up at the sky.
“Really? What do you do?” she asked, turning her attention back to her unexpected dinner. She nibbled at the crispy skin on the chicken.
“Sometimes we read. Or fish. Or listen to music,” Jayce answered.
“Sounds like fun,” she said, between bites.
“Yeah. Except for the nights we have to work on homework.” The boy grimaced.
Fargo’s lips curved. “Come on, Jayce. That’s not very often. Apparently, not often enough.”
“Dad! Ain’t slipped out, all right?”
Fargo nodded and tousled his son’s hair.
“I wish I had a peaceful spot like this to come to on Friday evenings,” she said, giving the watering hole a panoramic sweep.
“You do?” Jayce’s grateful look clashed with a disbelieving tone.
A strawberry, plump and juicy, slid down her throat. She swabbed at her lips with a napkin. “And I’d even be willing to bring work if I needed to.”
Did Fargo just snort?
Her head whipped in the cowboy’s direction, but his hand covered his mouth. Her arm sliced through the air around them. “How bad could the work be when you’re surrounded by this?”
“Math is always bad. It doesn’t matter where I work on it,” Jayce muttered.
She chuckled. “I have a little experience with math. I’ll be glad to help while I’m here. If your dad doesn’t object.” She swiveled for Fargo’s approval, content with a nod.
“Awesome!” Jayce’s face lit up. “My dad said my mom was always good in math, but she isn’t around to help me with my homework.”
Next to her, Fargo inhaled, sharp and painful sounding.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to touch Jayce’s shoulder, compassion swelling for the boy. And for the man.
“It’s all right. She died when I was just a baby, so I don’t even remember her.” Jayce shrugged like it was no big deal.
Not knowing his mother was a big deal.
She could attest. But she’d known her mother. She just hadn’t been a big deal in her mother’s life. Not as much a priority as her mother’s patients, anyway.
Her heart splintered into a thousand sharp shards. For the toddler who’d never felt a sweet kiss pressed against a booboo. For the little boy who’d never witnessed his mother’s anxious smile as he learned to ride a horse. For the soon-to-be teen who’d attend prom without a mama snapping proud pictures.
Not like her father had done any of those things, either.
Her hand fell away from Jayce’s shoulder, a sigh heaving from her chest. She swiped at her eyes again, a hot mess from her sweaty legs to her feverish forehead.
What did she know about parenthood or healthy families? Nothing!
She may not know much, but she recognized a good father. A man who carved out time to bond with his son every Friday night.
She blinked heavy lashes then angled her head toward the cowboy dad, allowing all her feelings to surface. Compassion, understanding, admiration, pain. Even attraction bled through, drat it!
His head jerked toward the lake. His jaw clamped tight, and his spine stiffened into something rigid and unyielding.
He shouldered a world of hurt, too.
“Death is always painful,” she offered. Weak, but what else could she say?
She twirled the fork around on her plate, avoiding the remaining few bites of the macaroni salad, the silence deafening.
“When I was younger, I never really saw too much of my parents. Not much changed after my mother died, either, because my dad was so involved in his career and all.” Her voice squeaked. Why was she telling them this? She hardly knew them.
Jayce leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his expression intense, as if he hungered for truth to ease the hollow ache.
She injected some energy into her voice. A ray of hope for the kid to hang onto. “But I work for my dad now. I see him just about every day, more than—”
A sharp gasp practically lifted her rump off the blanket.
“You work for your dad? Brewster…as in Brewster Oil?” Fargo asked, disbelief pitching his voice.
“Yes. While I’m here, I’d love to sit down with you and your family—”
Fargo hoisted himself to his feet, a grim expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Darby. I hate to break up this picnic, but a rancher doesn’t have the luxury of sleeping in on Saturdays.” He held out a hand, clearly rescinding the invitation.
“Oh. Sure.” Was it something she said?
Oh no! She wanted to slap her forehead. How insensitive! How could she have mentioned her father when his loss was still so raw?
“Aww! Do we have to go already?” Jayce complained, but his dad silenced him with just a look.
Fargo’s rough hand wrapped around hers. He tugged her up, careful to leave plenty of distance between them until she balanced.
His warm palm shot her pulse into overdrive. His grip strong and sure, such a contrast to the raw pain, the vulnerability on his face.
When he released her hand, a lump slid down his whiskered throat. “I worked with my dad, too, up until three months ago.” The tip of his tongue came out to lick his lips and his lids shuttered. When they opened, sorrow flickered across his face for an instant. “He died.”
Her hand shot to her mouth. She gave her head a little wobble, horrified for even broaching the subject when his grief was still raw. She’d hurt him. “I’m so sorry.”
His face softened. He lifted a shoulder. “You didn’t know. It’s all right.”
But she had known.
For a split second, she’d seen a glimpse of her past in the boy. Forgot about the wounded cowboy sitting next to her. How was that possible?
“Dad says working without Gr
amps can get mighty lonely sometimes.”
Fargo winced. Red crept up his neck. “Son, some things you just shouldn’t blurt out to strangers.” He closed his eyes again, but even that gesture couldn’t mask the truth of his son’s words.
“But she’s not a stranger anymore, Dad. Right, Darby?”
“Right,” Darby agreed. “Strangers don’t share their dinner. Only friends do. Thank you for considering me your friend.” Would they still consider her a friend after their business meeting? Or foe?
She bent over and scooped up her dirty plate. “Where—”
“We’ll get this.” Fargo took the plate from her hand. The firm set to his jaw told her it wouldn’t do any good to argue.
“Well, thank you again.” A strange desire to prolong her time with this pair of wounded cowboys needled her. But what else could she do?
She trudged toward the path that would lead her back to the big ranch house, her steps now weighted and heavy with her blunder.
“Hey, Darby. Are you coming on the hayride tomorrow night?” Jayce blurted.
She angled her head over a shoulder. “Hayride?” The one she’d skimmed over on the retreat agenda, opting to catch up on work instead.
“Eight o’clock. It’s an experience every city girl shouldn’t miss.” Fargo’s dry tone came out sarcastic, and the sudden hike of his chin definitely issued a challenge. “But you probably brought along a ton of work to do while you’re here.”
“City girl? Work?” she sputtered. Because what else could she do? That’s exactly what she’d planned. Not anymore!
She flashed her brightest smile. “Sounds like a wagon full of fun, Jayce. I’ll be there, cowboy!” She lifted her own chin.
With his hat off, sunbeams flickered like diamonds from his short honey colored hair and his lush green eyes blended well with their surroundings. A breeze ruffled the leaves, bringing his scent of woods, spice and fruit to kiss her cheeks.
Saints alive!
But the man was anything but saintly! Arms locked across a massive chest and his long, muscular legs lined up solid under those stiff shoulders. He flicked his head once in acknowledgement, his lips only offering the slightest curve of encouragement, as if he doubted her word.
She’d show him!
Jayce pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”
Well, at least one of the Kester men appreciated that she would be there. So that zing of attraction was only one-sided.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Blake and Trevor? Man stupid! That’s what she was.
With a huff, she turned and flounced back toward the ranch, slapping branches out of her way.
Her cell phone buzzed, and she dragged it out of the case she used for running. She spotted the caller ID and cringed.
Her boss. Of course. She should have known. She debated letting it go to voicemail, but what good would that do? He would just keep calling until she answered.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Darby. Any news to report?”
No ‘Hey, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you. How’s your day?’ Nope. Just right down to business. That was her father all right.
“Not yet.”
“What’s the holdup?”
A wonderful picnic with a handsome cowboy and his son.
She didn’t dare mention that to her father, though. He’d retract that VP offer in a heartbeat. “Did you forget about the retreat? That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“You’re there to get the contract. The retreat was just a foot in the door.”
They’d argued when he’d first mentioned staging the retreat here, but her boss won. As usual. She still didn’t like the plan. It seemed…dishonest.
That stung. The sooner she rectified that, the better.
“Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night than check up on me?” Why bother asking? She knew the answer already.
He’d trained her well. When she got back to her room, she planned to fire up her laptop and respond to emails before digging into some research.
Didn’t she have anything better to do on a Friday night? She rolled her eyes. Apparently not.
Fargo’s comment about work prickled.
Hadn’t her ex-fiancé accused her of the very same thing when she’d slapped the diamond into his palm three years ago? His hurtful words still whistled in her ears. All you do is work, Darby! What’s a man supposed to do? How can I compete with your career…or your father?
Maybe Blake had been right. Not that his lack of discipline was her fault. But that her best was never enough. Not for him, and definitely not for her father.
Was it time to make a change in her life?
~ CHAPTER 4 ~
If she thought Fargo looked anything but saintly last night, tonight he was downright devilish.
The man even jazzed up faded, ranch-worn jeans.
Darby sucked in a breath. What was she doing out here? She should be back in her room, hunched over her laptop, analyzing the latest report that hit her inbox earlier this evening. Or discussing the contract with Mrs. Kester over coffee without a houseful of guests hovering.
Definitely. Not. This.
Moonbeams shimmered over the property, and a gentle breeze ushered the temperature into a mild range, erasing the day’s humidity. The two horses stood majestic and tall, clomping their hooves occasionally in their impatience to move, the wagon hitched behind them.
The evening couldn’t be more perfect.
But the cowboy? He couldn’t be more wrong.
She could enjoy the smaller pleasures in life. At least, she was determined to tonight. If for no other reason than to show the too-handsome man he was mistaken. But truthfully, it went deeper than that. She needed to prove something to herself.
She glanced sideways at Kate, caught the hesitation in the tight line of her friend’s lips and the protective arm cradling her belly. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
Kate shot her a worried look. “No. Are you?”
“Definitely.” What could go wrong on the back of a wagon? It’s not like she’d be riding a horse. “But, I don’t want to pressure you into going, especially since you haven’t felt all that well the last few days. I’ll be fine. Besides—” Darby’s gaze dropped to Kate’s belly “—I don’t want Junior there to think it’s time for his big debut, what with all that bouncing around.”
Kate grimaced. “Yeah. I think you’re right. If you don’t mind, I will stay here.”
Darby wrapped an arm around her friend’s neck. “Not at all. See you when I get back.”
“I’ll be waiting for you. With a giant glass of iced tea. Lazing around on the comfy couch. Enjoying the air con.” Kate fanned her flushed face with her fingers, turned, and waddled back to the house.
“You’ll probably prefer hot chocolate or coffee when you get back. It’s a bit on the chilly side tonight. At least, for the women who aren’t pregnant.” The deep voice, carrying more than a hint of amusement, drawled close to her shoulder.
She angled her head.
Mistake number one.
He was so close she made out the gold flecks sparkling from his eyes and caught a whiff of his soap. A drop of moisture from his short spiked hair, still a bit damp from his recent shower, landed on her arm. A tug of attraction, strong and powerful, clawed at her heart. Something almost…foreign.
Unwelcome, considering the real reason for her presence at the ranch.
“Where’s Jayce?”
Fargo flicked his head toward the front of the wagon where Jayce sat next to an older man. “Up on the box. He wanted to help his Uncle Chips handle the horses tonight.”
“Oh.” She was on her own, then? Alarm pulsed through her head. Her gaze jerked to the house, her second floor bedroom. Maybe her laptop was the wiser—
“You’re not changing your mind, are you?” Fargo’s lips sported a slight curve, celebrating as if he’d won a bet. “Work calling your name?”
“Not a chance,
cowboy.” She hiked her chin. She’d show him, along with every other man in her life, that she could take a night off.
The hard angles of his face softened. That full mouth transformed into a flat out grin, something delicious and inviting. Then, he plopped the Stetson on his head, masking his expression. His giant hand, toughened and calloused from rugged ranch work, swallowed hers, cradling it with a gentle touch as if handling something fragile and precious.
Kindling ignited and sparked up and down her spine until he released her. She whooshed out a breath. Mercy!
Hay bales covered the wagon bed. Doubt clenched her stomach. What if she suffered from motion sickness? Surely the horses wouldn’t go too fast where she couldn’t hop off, would they?
“Put your seat belt on, city girl. You’ll be fine.”
Seat belt? This thing came equipped—
Cowboy chuckled.
She glared at him and parked her rump on a bale close to the back, just in case.
He extended a helping hand to her co-workers, including Elsa, the big-busted blonde flirt who chased every pair of slacks in their office.
Elsa’s mascara-heavy lashes fluttered. The woman held out her hand, giggling and leaning in to whisper in Fargo’s ear, brushing her chest against his bare arm.
Darby gritted her teeth and whipped her gaze toward the front of the wagon, trying hard to squash the ugly prick of envy.
Elsa breezed by, her strong perfume trailing like a dark cloud. She finally settled on one of the last two makeshift seats. She patted the empty spot between them, her expensive rings glimmering, her bold smile an invitation to the only man left standing…Fargo.
He jerked away and busied himself with preparations, his hat shielding his face, Hope and Charity circling his boots.
Great. Just great.
Darby let out a long breath, annoyed at her reaction. She had no reason to be jealous. Besides, he wasn’t her type. Not at all.
Not with the stone face with the hard ridges or that tightly clenched jaw with the dark shadow of whiskers. And especially not the chin that hitched ever so slightly, as if he wore a constant grudge against the world. His full lips rarely curved in amusement. But when they did? Mercy! They wreaked havoc with her pulse!