by Tori Kayson
“Aren’t you using vacation time? Why is he bothering you about work now?”
Her chin dipped to her chest. When she looked up, resignation stole her smile and drooped her shoulders. She focused her attention on the dogs, who’d wandered off with their snouts to the ground. Anywhere but him.
He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this.
“He still wants me to convince your mother to install an oil drilling rig on the ranch.”
“Seriously? Don’t you ever give up?” He scrubbed a hand across his face, disappointment making his legs wobbly.
She didn’t have the slightest interest in him or the ranch. Only what the ranch could do for her. For Brewster Oil. He should have known.
“Yes.” Regret-filled eyes locked onto his. “I’m sorry. I keep telling my father—”
“No!” The single word came out much firmer and with more force than he’d intended. He reared back, startling his horse.
Majesty whipped his long neck in a circle and snorted. Both dogs paused and looked their way, but went back to sniffing the ground.
Anguish— or fear? —flickered across her face. She backed away, palms in the air, the package still tucked tight against her side. “I understand, Fargo. Really.” She pivoted and walked away, her shoulders drooping as much as that silly hat.
He hadn’t meant to scare her. Guilt slithered up his spine. He was acting as ugly as her father. Suddenly, he wanted her to understand. He gripped Majesty’s reins and caught up to her.
“My father could be mighty stubborn at times, especially when it came to protecting his family and our home.”
“Must be where you get it from.” She flashed a sideways smile, accepting his peace offering.
“They’re both important to me.” She was important. How could that be? He’d only known her such a short time, but she’d slipped under his radar. Forged past his defenses.
He speared her with his gaze. “So, yeah. I can get a bit stubborn about who and what I love.”
She squirmed and adjusted her hat. Kept walking. Majesty clomped behind them.
“A few years back, my father hammered out a deal with an oil company. Took months to come to an agreement, and then he wasted an entire year wrangling with them over non-compliance and compensation issues. The day the case settled, Dad vowed that we would never again consider oil as a possible revenue source. His exact words were, ‘Over my dead body.’”
I promise I won’t let you down, Dad.
He focused on Darby. Her coffee warm eyes and smooth ivory cheeks. The full pink lips.
Not even for a pretty face, he added.
She nodded, not looking in the least frustrated or annoyed with him. More like accepting.
He was good with that. Much better than the alternative because, heaven help him, he enjoyed her company…when she wasn’t trying to get them to sign on the dotted line. Even then, to be honest.
But what did their refusal mean for her relationship with her father? Too bad that in honoring his father, she’d dishonor hers. But, he wasn’t willing to budge.
“So, what are you doing?” he asked.
She grimaced, almost as if afraid to admit. She poked a hand under her arm and came out with an ancient looking miniature barrel that read Brewster Oil. “Geocaching.”
He didn’t get off the ranch much, but what in tarnation? His dad’s old-fashioned phrase came to mind.
She must have seen the blank look on his face. “It’s like an online treasure hunt. People from all over the world hide things and others hunt them based on GPS coordinates.”
He gave his head a slow nod, repeating the word. “Geocaching.” Not what he’d expected, but then this woman surprised him from day one.
He dug inside the barrel, pulled out a ratty horseshoe and held it up.
“Uncle Chips gave it to me.”
“The old codger couldn’t give you something better than this?” Or cleaner?
She smiled. “I found it in the barn and asked him if I could have it. It’s perfect.”
He rummaged through the rest of the items, pausing on the picture of her and her friend, Kate. If she wasn’t standing right in front of him, he might’ve been tempted to slide that in his pocket. Instead, he tucked it back in with the rest of the items, including a brochure for the ranch that Kierra must have given her. He latched the lid and handed it back. “So this geocaching. It’s a hobby?”
She nodded, slid the canister back into the sack, and switched directions, headed back toward the ranch.
Of course, he followed, his hands lightly gripping Majesty’s reins. He whistled for the dogs. Their heads popped up and they raced to catch up with them, bumping into each other, almost knocking him over in their haste to hurry after Darby.
Crazy dogs.
Crazy Kester is more like it. You’re begging for trouble, man. Following her like a lovesick pup.
“You planning on hiding that today or are you headed back?”
“I didn’t really find a good spot. I’ll look again later.”
He knew the perfect place to hide a canister that size. “Come on then.” He swung up in the saddle and held out a hand.
She glanced up at him, the rim of her floppy hand dancing with the kiss of a breeze, her dark brows hiked on her forehead. “Come on…where?”
But she didn’t wait for his answer. Just slid her smooth fingers inside his. As if she trusted him. As if she had nothing better to do than hang out with him.
He looped the bag’s handle around the saddle horn then tugged her up behind him. When her slender arms wrapped around his waist, he barely managed to corral the groan of pleasure. She nestled her chin against his back, sending roses and jasmine to drift his way. Setting free all sorts of wrong ideas to zing around in his brain.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
He flicked that thought to the ditch. “I know the perfect spot to hide it.”
“You do?” Her chin rumbled against his back and a curly lock tickled his nape.
“Yeah. Just up the road a bit.” Not far. Maybe he could stretch it out.
Forever might be long enough.
His attraction surprised him. She worked for an oil company. Practically owned it. His father’s archenemy.
Besides, her life revolved around power lunches and fancy suits, not comfort food and wranglers.
And definitely not a grubby cowboy with a rusty heart.
The abandoned gas station came into view. He reined Majesty in next to a towering oak by the road. They dismounted and retrieved the bag.
“Over here.” He took her hand and led her to a gnarly hole at the base of the crooked tree.
Her full lips rounded into an O. She tugged the canister from the bag and crouched, fitting the miniature oil drum against the opening.
Heaven help him, he waited, his lungs not evacuating air. Why did it matter whether she liked the spot or not? It was just a tiny drum.
She glanced up at him, her cheeks scrunched against the sun’s glare. “This is perfect. Thank you, Fargo.”
Perfect? No…perfect would be if she longed for a life on the ranch. For evenings enjoying medium rare steaks hot off the grill. For lazy Sunday afternoons sitting on the porch, sharing their dreams and their goals for the week over a tall glass of iced tea. Perfect would be snuggling in bed, taking their sweet time creating more babies—
What was he doing? Trying to drive himself even more crazy?
He shook his head and waited while she scribbled some notations on a log of some sort and then set the container inside the hole.
He’d take her back to the ranch. But then he’d steer clear of her for the rest of her visit. That sounded like the best plan of action.
So why was his heart battling with his brain?
~ CHAPTER 13 ~
“Fargo, would you and Jayce escort Mr. and Mrs. Graham up to the Brahman room, please?” Kierra asked, contorting her face to plead. She snagged his forearm on his way to
the barn. A tablet braced against her other palm.
He’d warned her from the onset that enough chores kept him busy outside without adding housekeeping or greeting guests.
But dust flumed from the several cars snaking up the driveway. And the elderly couple turned toward him with such hope on their faces.
He twisted to glance into the back of their car. A cluster of suitcases clogged the trunk.
No wonder. How many sets of clothes did one couple need for a family reunion?
Without waiting for his response, Kierra pressed a key into his hand. “Thanks. Slade’s helping Mom unload groceries. Would you mind telling him our guests have arrived when you come back down?”
“Sure.” He leaned in to whisper. “But you’ll owe me.”
She ignored him, centering her gaze on the guests with a smile and injecting happy into her voice. “Fargo will escort you to your room. Dinner’s at six. We sure hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” She nodded and moved to the next car.
If only he could inject happy into his chest cavity. The hole left from his battle over staying away from Darby.
He loaded one bag under his arm and gripped a couple others while Jayce handled two.
“Right this way.” He motioned for the couple to follow. He hauled the heavy load toward the porch.
“I’ll take that,” Darby’s sweet voice drifted his way.
His boot snagged on the first porch step. He almost scraped himself off the stairs, but regained his balance in time. Then, Jayce bumped into his back. Bags tumbled and landed every which way.
“Thanks, Darby. I appreciate your help.” Kierra projected her loud voice in his direction. As if she wanted him to hear.
He scooped up the rogue bags and chanced a sideways glance.
Darby wrestled with a suitcase, finally dislodging it from the back of a giant SUV. A family of five huddled around, just watching. What?!
“The Conrads will be staying in the Angus room.” Kierra squinted at her tablet.
He didn’t want either woman hauling all the overstuffed bags upstairs. Not while he was around.
“Give us a minute, Kierra. We’ll get the luggage,” Fargo yelled over a shoulder.
Darby flashed a sweet smile of compliance. Then she reached in and snatched a couple more bags from the back.
Stubborn woman. She was a guest. Why wasn’t she lounging in her room? Or out geo-whatever?
He stalled as long as he could, but the bags weighted him down. The Graham’s tromped up the stairs behind him, chattering and drowning out his efforts to eavesdrop. Finally, they unloaded the bags in the correct room.
Fargo refused a tip and closed the door, the woman still gushing her thanks.
“Let’s get back down there so those gals don’t try to tote all those bags upstairs.” He could just picture Darby huffing up the stairs, loaded down with suitcases. Didn’t sit well with him. Not that he wanted Kierra doing that, either. But, hey, she’d hatched this whole business.
“But, Dad, I thought you said—”
“Never mind what I said. I was wrong. Your aunt needs help, and it wouldn’t be right not to pitch in.” He skidded down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Jayce followed, turtle slow. He made a mental note to discuss work ethics with his son later.
They reached the back of the Conrad SUV. Most of the luggage remained. Good. And Slade assisted the third family. Even better.
He handed Jayce a couple of the lighter bags and then shouldered the rest. They hauled them upstairs and dropped them off. They unloaded another vehicle then Kierra declared that the last two families wouldn’t arrive until later that evening.
“Can I go home now, Dad?” Jayce asked.
“Sure. I’ll be there shortly.” As soon as he tracked down one stubborn female.
“Thanks, Jayce,” Kierra said.
Jayce never turned around. Just waved a hand in the air behind him, his boots eating up the distance between the houses in record time.
“That boy can move when he wants to,” Kierra said, smiling.
“Yeah,” he agreed, tracking his son until Jayce disappeared inside their house. He crossed his arms. “Why was Darby helping with check in?”
“She offered,” Kierra said, lifting a shoulder.
“She’s a guest, too.”
“True. But I guess she could see that I was stressed.” Kierra hugged the tablet to her chest and studied him. She grinned, something evil and sisterly. As if she sensed his discomfort. “What bothers you the most, Fargo? That she doesn’t mind pitching in and getting her hands dirty? Or that she actually enjoys being here on the ranch?”
Nothing like aiming for the jugular. And too close to the truth. His eyebrows nudged together. “Where is she?”
“How would I—”
He glared. Took a step closer.
She held up her palms, balancing the tablet in one. “All right. She headed to the kitchen. To help mom with dinner.”
He blinked, processing this information. “What do you want her to do next? Clean the bathrooms?” Desperation beat out sarcasm. He cleared his throat, but too late to erase the evidence from his voice.
As if his sister needed more ammunition.
Forget hunting the stubborn woman. He mashed the hat down on his forehead and swiveled toward his house. Sweat trickled down his back.
Fingers tugged his shirt, impeding his escape.
He twisted around, expecting the impish sister from their youth.
But the humor faded from Kierra’s face. Concern moved in. “What’s the matter, Fargo? Afraid that she’ll tire of the ranch and decide it’s time to go back to Dallas?”
He jerked out of her grasp, but her words taunted him all the way across the lawn.
Afraid. A word he wasn’t too familiar with, but that was it. Exactly.
Afraid of these powerful feelings that surged without warning.
Afraid she’d ride right out of here with his heart stuffed in one of those miniature oil drums.
§
“Go on, honey. Grab a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and find some place to kick your feet up. That’s what I intend to do right now. As soon as I track down that son of mine to make sure he did his chores.” Rebekah hung the dish towel then curled an arm around Darby’s neck to press a cool cheek against hers. “Darby, you were a huge help today. Kierra and I both appreciate you pitching in, more than you’ll ever know. This special event business is still rather new to us, and check in days tend to tucker this old mama out.”
Simple words, but the praise sank deep, fluttering to land in her belly and igniting a fierce longing. For a normal family that appreciated the little things. A family that hugged and praised. That loved and lived.
She cleared her throat, fighting back the powerful ache. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was here to help.”
Rebekah pulled away and gave her one last long look. Her lips twitched, but words never materialized. Finally, she nodded and disappeared into the bowels of the enormous house.
What had the woman wanted to say?
Darby poked her head inside the fridge, allowing the cool air to ease the pressure burning behind her eyelids. Then, she poured iced tea into a goblet.
Laughter and chatter from the Graham reunion filtered in through the open kitchen window. Darby slid it closed, shutting out the celebration of the tight-knit family.
What made her think staying on at the ranch was such a great idea?
She groaned. Escape and a few minutes of solitude. That’s what she needed to regain her normal.
Goblet in hand, she stepped outside on the front porch and propped her forearms on the rail.
Millions of stars sprinkled the sky. A slight breeze caressed her cheeks. The perfect evening for wishes, for romance—
“Thank you for your help tonight.” The voice, husky and deep, emerged from the darkness over to her left.
She startled and twisted sideways. Cold liquid sloshed over her hand.
She set the glass on the ledge and flicked the moisture off her skin. “How clumsy of me.”
“I’m sorry.” Suddenly, Fargo’s massive shoulder bumped hers. His earthy and clean scent drifted into her space. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Frighten her? That wasn’t exactly what the cowboy did to her. Well, maybe a little. With his harnessed strength, quiet manner, the intensity that burned behind those cat-like eyes. And the way her body responded to him. All rational thought scattered from her brain and flames ignited to sear through her veins.
She gulped. Solitude was highly overrated.
She nudged her rump against the rail. “The crowd was in the back. I wasn’t expecting to find anybody out here.”
He tilted his head and regarded her. “Should I leave?” Had his voice gotten huskier?
Her mouth opened, but for the life of her, words rebelled.
He nudged her chin up with his thumb. So close, his cinnamon flavored breath taunted her lips just as much as his steady gaze. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“No. Definitely not.”
His nostrils flared. Desire darkened his irises. Lashes shuttered over those gorgeous eyes and he leaned in.
His lips connected with hers, soft as a rose petal. His gentle touch melted her insides. Simmered from her toes to her spine until she was one wobbly mess. And, mercy, it ended entirely too soon!
When he pulled back, a lump worked its way down his whiskered throat. A tic pulsed in his jaw.
Good. So the kiss affected him, too.
“Want to swing for a bit?”
Anything to prolong the intimate moment. “Sure.”
He gestured for her to settle in the chair first. The bench dropped a good foot with his added bulk. He rocked the heel of his boot, setting the swing in motion, and laced his fingers through hers.
“How long will you be staying?” The words seemed ripped from his throat. As if unsure whether he should ask. Or mad at himself for even caring.
“As long as Rebekah has a room for me,” she teased, leaning into his side. Deep down, she admitted staying much longer was just a dream. Her father would see to that.