Roping the Cowboy

by Tori Kayson

  “Maverick?” She latched onto the new name, grateful for the subject change. She cleared her throat, scooped up the soft dough and plopped it in the ceramic pie plate. Flour poofed up.

  “That’s good, Darby. Would you mind turning down the temperature on the sauce to low?” Standing near the sink, Rebekah flicked her head toward the stove.

  If only she could turn down the heat torching her insides.

  “Sure,” she said, complying.

  “Maverick’s our other son. He’s a Deputy US Marshal. He doesn’t make it home as often as we’d, uh, I’d like.”

  “Most parents probably say the same thing.” Except hers.

  She picked up the roller again and smashed the dough. She’d buy one of these gadgets as soon as she got back to Dallas. Who needed a gym membership with one of these tools around?

  Rebekah continued, stopping to fan her cheeks. She stared out the kitchen window, lost in her memories. “I still remember the first time Craig invited me out here for the weekend. I joked with him about just wanting an extra hand for chores.” She angled around and grinned. “But, truthfully, I didn’t mind helping. Gave me an excuse to gawk at his muscles.”

  Darby laughed.

  “When I went back to Dallas, everything felt…different.”

  “Different how?” Darby leaned across the counter. So Rebekah had experienced a similar dilemma?

  “I don’t know how to explain it. I just looked at things in a new way. I think I fell in love with the ranch as much as I did the cowboy.”

  Darby sucked in a breath.

  Then again, maybe not.

  But how else did she explain the knot that coiled tighter in her belly with every tick of the kitchen clock, counting down the hours until she returned to her condo?

  Rebekah held out a spiked wheel with a handle and the bowl of sliced apples, a knowing look on her face. “You’re halfway there, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  Halfway to falling in love with the ranch? Or her son?

  More than halfway, if she was honest.

  If she was honest…

  Darby gulped. Her fingers fumbled with the bowl, almost dropping it. If Rebekah only knew. Shame flooded her face. “Rebekah, it’s not entirely how it seems.”

  “Nothing ever is, my dear.”

  Wise woman. “I came here for business.”

  “The retreat?”

  “More than that.”

  Rebekah nodded, a thoughtful expression sliding across her features. “You’d like to use our land.”

  “Yes.” There. The real reason she’d come was out in the open. Relief lightened her chest. She let out a cleansing breath.

  “Does Fargo know?”

  She nodded.

  One eyebrow arched. Rebekah’s jaw dropped, then she clamped it closed. And smiled, a slow, wondrous curve glazing her lips. “And he hasn’t tossed you off the property. Amazing.”

  Darby bit her lip, quite sure he’d contemplated doing just that. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it the first night. You and your entire family have been so gracious—”

  Rebekah swatted the air. “No worries, my dear.”

  “Have you considered the financial benefits of permitting an oil rig on the property?” She’d studied the financial statements. Money had to be tight with that huge balloon payment looming over the ranch.

  Rebekah sighed. “Considered and dismissed pretty much immediately. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Darby. But I’ll let Fargo explain…if he chooses.”

  “Fair enough.” Like that would ever happen. Same odds as snagging the VP title. “I just wanted to put the offer out there. If you reconsider—”

  “Thank you, Darby. I appreciate the offer. More than you’ll know, actually.” Rebekah gave her a one-armed hug. Her subtle lavender scent drifted over the space, soothing and fresh as the apple pie taking shape. The sweet woman pulled back and dabbed at her eyes before moving back to the counter and injecting a smile into her voice. “Now, here’s where the real fun comes in.”

  “It’s all been fun.” Darby glanced around the comfortable kitchen. Flour dotted the countertop, along with scraps of dough. Cinnamon and nutmeg warmed the room as much as the love.

  Her breath lodged in her lungs, refusing to let loose.

  Love. The missing ingredient from her condo’s kitchen.

  She pictured it in her head, but the image was fuzzy.

  Just like Rebekah had warned.

  §

  Laughter. In his mother’s kitchen.

  Surprise jolted the wind out of him, as if Majesty had bucked him off and hurled him against the hard ground. Fargo’s legs jerked to a stop on the stoop outside, his fingers stilling against the doorknob. The heat from the day bounced off the metal, searing his fingertips.

  How long had it been since he’d heard genuine laughter spilling from his mother’s kitchen? He knew exactly the day, the hour, the minute it had stopped.

  The second his dad’s heart gave out.

  The faint murmur of feminine voices followed by another tinkle of laughter set the blood thundering through his body.

  Darby.

  He twisted the knob, willing his legs to slow, to counteract the natural inclination propelling him inside. He stepped into the utility room.

  A wonderful aroma settled over him. His muscles relaxed. Why pay big bucks for some fancy aromatherapy when all he had to do was walk into his mom’s kitchen? He took a long sniff, the tart apples and sweet fragrance just enough to override the smell of horses and earth that lingered on his clothes.

  Apple pie?

  He could do slow any day. Not today. Not when a slice of pure heaven called his name. He wrenched a boot from his foot and bent over to set it by the door.

  “I can see how you love the ranch. The wide openness, the quiet, the beauty pulls at a person. I love it already, and I’ve only been here a few days.” Darby’s sweet words mingled with the apple and nutmeg, a balm to his weary spirit.

  His chest puffed up as he reached down to tug off the other boot. So she loved the ranch? Maybe Uncle Chips was—

  “But I’m not sure I could ever live someplace so remote.”

  Dead wrong! He should’ve never allowed Uncle Chips’s words any traction in his brain…or his heart. His chest deflated faster than a popped balloon. He stood, his back stooping just like Jayce’s when he carried his overloaded book bag.

  “Really? Why’s that?” his mother prompted.

  He peered around the wall, stealing a glance into the kitchen.

  His mother perched on a bar stool, her forearms propped on the counter. Darby’s fingers weaved strips of dough over the apple mixture.

  Darby made the pie? Whoa!

  He folded arms over his chest and nudged a shoulder against the doorframe. This he had to see.

  “I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself.” Her head popped up to glance at his mother. Stray wisps of Darby’s hair, twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, feathered her face. A speck of flour dotted her cheek. And decked out in an apron?

  He couldn’t stop the smile from curving his lips. This scene, the coziness, the sweet fragrance hovering over the kitchen, the apron, Darby…it all felt comfortable. Homey. And…incredibly sexy.

  “I thought that way in the beginning, too, but trust me, it didn’t take long for me to find things to do.”

  “Like baking?”

  His mother laughed. “That, and Fargo came along mighty quick. Then Maverick and Kierra.” Her voice faded. She leaned closer, her tone dropping a notch. “And Slade? Well I just couldn't keep my hands off that cowboy!” She shook her head, smiling with the memories.

  Fargo was used to his mother's say-it-like-it-is way with words, but obviously, Darby wasn't. Her jaw dropped, and a hand fluttered to cover her gaping mouth. The sophisticated city gal would be calling that taxi back—

  A gurgle erupted from Darby’s throat. Then she tilted her head back and...laughed. With total abandon. A
s if she’d been holding it in for years.

  And he soaked in every blessed second.

  Until his mother caught him. “Fargo! How long have you been eavesdropping?”

  Darby’s head jerked in his direction. Her lips rounded in a wide O. Her hands stopped working their magic. A thread of dough dangled from her fingers. Flour speckled her cheeks and her apron.

  Too bad. Just when this conversation was starting to get really interesting.

  ~ CHAPTER 10 ~

  How had his mother roped him into this?

  Guilt. The penalty for eavesdropping.

  That’s the only explanation Fargo would accept. He refused to acknowledge the alternative. That when his mother suggested showing Darby the property in the cool of the evening and sweetening the offer by volunteering to keep Jayce overnight, his pulse had rocketed with…pleasure.

  Hooves clomped hard earth, following a wide trail through the property. The humidity had lessened along with the temperature, now a low seventyish, but perspiration still plastered his shirt to his skin.

  He hadn’t dated in so long, he’d forgotten what was expected. Not that this was a date. Was it?

  He rolled his head to the right.

  Moonlight splashed Darby’s cinnamon colored hair and dappled shadows across her creamy complexion. Her denim-covered thighs hugged the horse, and her fingers gripped the reins like she’d been on a horse every day of her life. His gaze lingered on the short-sleeved blouse. Appreciated how it showed off the firm muscles in her upper arms and clung to every curve.

  A streak of pure desire raced through his limbs, something so foreign he wasn’t sure if he knew what to do with it.

  He gulped. Yeah, he did, but he’d been down that road before, and he didn’t plan to make that same detour again.

  She glanced sideways at him. Caught his open-mouthed gape.

  He clamped his lips shut. Smashed the hat lower on his head. Tightened his grip on the reins. Jerked his head back toward the path, where it belonged. Back to the ranch, where he belonged.

  Her? Not so much. Hadn’t he overheard her admit that in the kitchen?

  “I’m sorry your mother wrangled you into this, Fargo.” Her voice came out small, unsure. Definitely not her normal confident tone.

  “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to.” He angled sideways, caught the slight uptick of her brow and the rounded lips.

  “I’m not so sure about that. You’re as wonderful a son as you are a father.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you. Thank you,” he said, mashing his hat lower to stare at her. Was she still angling for that oil contract?

  Her face lacked guile. Just genuine appreciation for her surroundings.

  He appreciated his surroundings, too. The sway of her torso, in sync with gentle plod of the horse—

  “So tell me about the ranch.”

  He flicked his head, snapping his gaze to the path. “Not much to tell really.”

  “You spend every day out here. What do you do?”

  “Is this a spinoff of your conversation with my mother? Because I can assure you her list is different from mine.”

  “Hmm. Are you referring to the baking or the making babies?” Humor laced her voice.

  He arched a brow as desire pulsed through him again. He took a long hard look at her. Oil heiress, remember? Not ranch material. He forced his pulse back into submission.

  “We have over twenty thousand acres. That’s a lot of ground to cover, fencing to maintain. We’re constantly moving cattle around, calving and checking on calves, running off predators, keeping up with market prices, trying new breeding techniques and pairs…” His voice tapered off. He was boring her. Heck, he was putting himself to sleep.

  He flicked his reins, steering Majesty in the direction of the lake. Darby couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the ranch with that view, especially at night.

  Why did that matter?

  “New breeding techniques?” Her voice came to him with the slight flutter of the leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’s not quite how it sounds, but yeah. We lost quite a few head of cattle with the drought a few years back. And then Dad bought some property off our neighbors. Combined, it set us back a bit financially.” It hurt to admit that to her. But it’s not like he’d ever see her again.

  What would it hurt to explain? “One of your rival companies offered us a sweet deal if we’d let them install an oil drilling rig on the property, but Dad was adamant that we’d make it on ranching.”

  She blinked, but didn’t say anything.

  Score one for Darby. Her perfect lead in, and she ignored it.

  He continued, “The constant calving was running us ragged. So I finally convinced Dad to give genetic engineering a try.”

  “Cross breeding?”

  He nodded. “I researched different breeds, with the end goal of shorter breeding seasons, better fertility rates, higher weaning weights, and a more drought-tolerant herd. We experimented and I think we finally came up with a good combination. Already, we’d noticed a difference, and Dad was able to see a glimmer of success—” Before he died. He swallowed the words along with the still painful loss. Why didn’t it seem strange talking about his dad with Darby?

  “Wow. I’m impressed.” She looked at him as if he hung the moon.

  What he wouldn’t do to be worthy of that admiration, but he was just a simple rancher. “Don’t be. I don’t have a college degree. I’m just a rancher trying to make a living.”

  “A person doesn’t need a college education to be successful in business or in life. You seem to be doing everything right. Your son adores you. He looks up to you, just like you respect your father and his legacy.” Her husky words puffed up his chest, made him sit a little higher in the saddle. A sliver amongst the trees filtered in enough light to catch her gaze as it slid up and down his frame, blasting heat to fill his lungs.

  But there was something else on her face. A hint of longing, a void. Something she’d missed in her own life?

  The horses rounded a corner and the lake came into view. Moonlight danced like diamonds off the silver surface of the water.

  He tugged Majesty to a halt and hopped down, leaving the reins to dangle. Neither horse would wander far. He held up his arms to assist Darby.

  She twisted a slender leg over the horse’s rump and slid off Duchess’s back, landing against his chest. All he breathed in was the freshness of the lake, its sweet aroma ushering in a gentle hope for new beginnings, an earthy mustiness, and…Darby.

  He gulped. When he was around this woman, she made him forget everything. Like the hundreds of acres to search through tomorrow, checking on some pregnant cows. That he was raising a son all by himself, thanks to his lack of self-control and teenage hormones and hooking up with a woman who was all wrong for the ranch. All wrong for him.

  He was older. Wiser. And definitely didn’t plan to repeat that mistake. He dropped his arms and stepped back.

  Was that regret that flashed across her features? Or just a mirror of his?

  She wandered toward the lake, twigs crackling under her boots.

  Heaven help him, he couldn’t stop from staring at her backside, the wavy locks of cinnamon hair that bounced along her shoulders, the hips that swayed, those jeans embracing every curve just right.

  He licked his lips and closed his eyes, but the vision chased him under shuttered lids.

  The plunk of a rock splashing the surface of the lake snapped his eyelids up.

  Her shoulders drooped. As if a heavy burden plagued her spirit. So different from the vibrant woman from just a few minutes ago.

  He could at least be her friend, couldn’t he? After all, she’d brought laughter into his mama’s kitchen again. She’d helped his son and brother with their homework, actually made it fun for the boys. Why was he acting like such a jerk? Maybe she could use a shoulder to lean on?

  Guilt propelled him for
ward to join her, the water’s gentle lapping almost touching the tips of his boots. “You didn’t have a good relationship with your parents?”

  “I…” Her gaze skittered sideways to meet his. She shook her head. “No. I didn’t. Still don’t.”

  If she wanted to talk, he’d listen. Riding thousands of acres alone, a rancher knew how to be silent.

  Her chest heaved. Her throat worked before the words trickled out. “I already told you my father owns Brewster Oil.”

  He nodded and crossed arms over his chest.

  “I never saw him much growing up. But my mother was a surgeon. I saw her even less. She practically lived at the hospital. I’m really not sure why she even bothered coming home. She’d stay gone for days.”

  “That’s tough.” He couldn’t even imagine. Every second of his childhood brimmed with love and family.

  She tossed another rock into the lake, flicked her pretty head to the side. “A nanny raised me. My parents finally divorced when I was ten. But that didn’t come as any surprise.”

  “Ouch.” His arms dropped to his side. One hand twitched with the desire to ease the suffering etched in the purple-tinged hollows above her cheeks.

  “When my mother died, my dad pretty much shuffled me away to school.”

  “Is that why you work for your dad? So you can see him? Or to prove something to him?”

  §

  That was a fair question.

  Too bad Darby didn’t have an answer. “I-I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a combination.”

  The handsome rancher angled to face her. His normally firm jaw softened the tiniest bit. Triple creases cratered deep valleys between his golden eyebrows.

  An urge to soothe the ridges almost had her hand poised in the air. Almost.

  This was her chance to approach him about the land again. He’d already broached the subject. She just needed to get him to open up more. Selling him on the financial benefits should come easy, given what he’d just revealed.

  But she couldn’t squeeze the words past her throat. Couldn’t dredge up any motivation to discuss oil or contracts. Not when the cowboy still grieved the loss of his father.

  And especially not when he looked at her like that. Like he could devour her for dessert.