Roping the Marshal: A Sweet Contemporary Cowboy Romance (Kester Ranch Cowboys Book 2)

by Tori Kayson

  She scrambled to keep up with those incredibly long legs. Finally, she halted him with a tug on his upper arm.

  Muscle tightened beneath her fingertips. He paused and angled around slightly, golden brows arched in question. His hat dripped on her hand while he regarded her in silence.

  She blinked, and her mind blanked. Why had she stopped him? And were those really her fingernails digging into the man’s arm? She released her death grip on the cowboy.

  Logan’s tiny arms clung to his rescuer’s damp neck. Awe glazed his face as he gazed up at the man. Drinking him in…as if the cowboy was a superhero.

  Maybe he was.

  That thought startled her. The slightest of breezes drifted over them, bringing the clean scent of pool water that clung to his clothes along with leather and spice. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, the scent comforting her as much as the knowledge that her son was all right. All because of this man.

  “Yes?” Finally he broke the silence, and the one word lingered in the air.

  She knew the energy he’d expended to save her son, to protect him. Didn’t she slide under the covers every night, exhaustion weakening every limb?

  Her lids flickered back up and she met his steady gaze, void of the impatient vibes her ex-husband surely would have given off by now. Like tapping his shoe or checking his phone for the zillionth time. Or worse, grabbing Logan’s arms and squeezing tight, getting right in his little boy face with clenched jaw and angry words.

  She stuffed the old fear back by blowing out a breath, cleared her throat, and focused on the man clutching Logan with a gentle grip. “‘Thank you’ seems pathetically inadequate.”

  The hard angles of his face softened, including his mouth, and he winked again. “It’s a start.”

  “Thank you, then.” On a sudden impulse that both terrified and thrilled, she threw herself at him. She locked arms around both boy and man and planted a quick peck on the startled man’s cheek.

  Logan squirmed under her pressure, but his rescuer only sucked in a giant breath and held it as he patted her back.

  Awkward! The poor guy. She was squeezing the stuffing out of a stranger, but she couldn’t help herself. His quick action saved her son from drowning. She pressed a cheek to his chest, his wet shirt dampening her skin as much as her tears. Relief flowed through her limbs, and her legs threatened to give out on her. When she was sure she wouldn’t lose it in front of him, she stepped back and swiped a palm across her cheeks.

  His entire body sagged, visibly loosening its tautness. His smile came out more on the brittle side, but his tone was soft, tender almost. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  What happened to the amused expression, the teasing tone? Right now, her heart could handle that. Not so much the compassion warming his face.

  His boots started moving again at warp speed, the leather soles squishing pool water with every step. Huff, slosh. Huff, slosh. Was he angry? Or worried about a wife’s reaction?

  What had she been thinking? She could have slapped her forehead, but settled for a quick glance at his profile.

  He had a strong jaw with a smattering of whiskers and a slight cleft tucked into his cheek. Thick muscled arms cradled her boy against his heart as if ...as if Logan actually meant something to the man. Logan’s head bobbed above his rescuer’s shoulders, and his hand curled around the man’s neck.

  With the exception of those loud puffs coming from the man’s rapid stride, he didn’t seem angry. But neither did he look like any of the cowboys from around here. Not in the way he walked, his legs moving across the lawn with athletic grace and good posture, as if he didn’t spend most of his days on the back of a horse. And not in the way he dressed. His jeans were too new, too starchy and stiff, his shirt too pressed. At least, they had been before the unexpected dip in the pool. She’d seen that much from her brief glimpse when they first arrived.

  He twisted to look at her over Logan’s head. Honey colored eyebrows hiked high on his forehead and that amused expression returned. His chest puffed up and his shoulders straightened. Confidence oozed from every step.

  Seriously! He’d caught her gawking at his legs.

  She dipped her head, hiding her embarrassment behind a curtain of hair as heat crawled up her neck. Sure, she had her sights set on finding a kind, hardworking cowboy to settle down with, but—

  “A pair of boots would be nice, too.” The rescuer’s deep voice sounded as if he found this whole situation entertaining.

  “Oh!” Her hand fluttered to cover her mouth while her gaze skittered to his leather boots. They looked as if he’d just plucked them off the showroom shelf before the unanticipated swim. But now…ruined.

  He clomped up the porch, water squishing from the soles.

  “I’m so sorry. Of course.”

  “Not for me. For the boy.” He plucked one boot from Logan’s foot and tipped it upside down. Water spurted and drained onto the deck. He tossed the soggy footwear and it landed with a thud on the wood planking. He repeated the process. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll ride into town with you and get replacements for mine.”

  “Sure. But, I’ll be glad to buy you a pair, too.” Small price to pay for saving her son.

  “No need, but thanks. I was due for some new boots anyway.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me.” She arched an eyebrow and dipped her head to glance pointedly at his boots, but he didn’t bite. “Are you a guest at the ranch?”

  “You could say that. Mind getting the door?”

  She scrambled to open the door, and he carted Logan inside. For a guest, he seemed fairly familiar with the layout of the house already. But she hadn’t been to the ranch in over a week, so it was possible that he’d checked in right after her last event here.

  Rebekah hurried into the kitchen, clutching a towel. “Is Logan okay?” Her worried gaze skimmed from the cowboy to Logan as she pressed the bath towel into Summer’s trembling fingers.

  “He wescued me!” Logan’s voice came out excited and not at all sorry, and his body suddenly wiggled to life.

  The cowboy lowered her little guy to the floor with great care and even more huffing.

  Summer draped the towel around Logan’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, a tight squeeze with every ounce of love from her heart, unable to dredge up any real anger over the situation. Her son was alive! “Yes, he did.”

  She glanced up at the cowboy and met his appreciative gaze. Oh yeah. He was definitely her hero. It took all she had to tear her attention away from the giant of a man and back to her son. “Did you tell him thank you?” She twisted Logan’s shoulders around so he could face his champion.

  “Tank you, mister.” Logan’s head tilted back, the wet ends of his brown hair skimming the towel. Droplets trickled onto her hands.

  Aww, that was her sweet boy. She could picture those chocolate donut hole sized eyes begging the man to pay attention. To look at him, to talk to him, to play with him.

  Just like he did every time he was around his father.

  Cowboy crouched on squishy boot soles, Logan-level, and balanced forearms on thick thighs. His expression was serious, but his gray eyes gleamed with kindness. “You’re welcome, little dude.” Then, his hands curled around Logan’s shoulders. Gentle fingers grazed hers, zapping her pulse with an energy she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not even around Wade. “No more swims for you today, though, all right?”

  Logan nodded.

  “But if you’d like to go for a swim, just ask. We’ll be glad to take you when you’re properly dressed and supervised. Got it?”

  Another nod.

  That seemed to satisfy the cowboy. He flicked his head once and stood, his exhale, sharp and painful sounding. He pressed an arm against his abdomen again.

  “So Logan doesn’t need a return visit to the ER, but what about you, Maverick? You don’t look so good,” Rebekah said, worry in her tone and bunched forehead.

  “I’m all right, Mom. Just a little
short on breath.”

  Mom? So this must be Maverick then, the other son. Kierra and Rebekah mentioned him occasionally, but only bits and pieces. He lived in Dallas. What else? She searched her memory, but came up short.

  Was he married? Her gaze darted to his left hand. No wedding band circled his finger.

  What did that matter? A lack of ring meant nothing! Life with her ex, an undercover deputy, attested to that.

  Hadn’t Judd always insisted that in his line of work a ring could kill him? That there was even a rule against wearing jewelry in the employee handbook?

  Lies! To cover up the real reason he refused to wear a wedding band.

  But surely this Kester, even if he lived in the city and not on the ranch, lived by the cowboy code. A man of truth and honor, one who kept his promises. A man who treated children and animals with respect.

  A cowboy! The news seeped into her weary spirit, reviving and soothing all the lonely places.

  Welcome home, Maverick Kester. Welcome home.

  2

  Maverick tugged the dry shirt on over his head and sucked in a breath at the sharp pain lancing his ribs. Son of a deuce!

  When the pain eased into a dull ache, he exhaled, slow and long. The doc said he’d have to put up with this for a few weeks especially since he refused painkillers. But he didn’t want anything to dilute his recovery or take longer to wean off the meds.

  At least his fresh socks didn’t make squishing noises as he stepped over to the mirror and raked fingers through his damp hair. Satisfied that he was presentable again, he headed for the bedroom door, glancing at the already half empty suitcase on the way out.

  If he’d known about the pint-sized terror stalking the ranch, he would have packed more clothes. He chuckled. Something about the miniature cowboy tugged at his heart. Maybe because Logan reminded him of his and Fargo’s escapades as kids. At least, Maverick had shared the blame with a brother, and their father had kept a tight rein on some of their activities. Logan had no brothers or sisters, but what about the kid’s father?

  He closed the door and made his way back downstairs, not finding a soul all the way to the kitchen. Car doors slammed, howdies and laughter filtered in through the open windows. The wedding guests must be arriving.

  Would an extra guest be welcome? It didn’t matter because he’d be out there keeping an eagle eye on Logan. Whether Summer was paying Slade or not, made no difference. He owed Fargo an apology.

  He pushed open the back door. He spotted his mother and sister standing by the refreshment table, but his gaze skittered past them, still roaming.

  There. With a camera in front of her sun-kissed, freckled cheeks. The soft breeze blew whispers of hair across her face as she moved through the crowd, snapping shots. Just then, the camera dropped away. She pushed her hair back and scanned the crowd, pausing on him. She smiled, something slow and uncertain at first, but then her glossy lips parted.

  Lips that begged to be kissed.

  Oh, man. He’d thought coming home to recuperate would speed up the process, but if the way his pulse rocketed into high gear just looking at this woman, he might need a few extra weeks.

  He gulped down the pleasure and reprimanded his rebellious body parts. Focus, man, focus. Where was the boy?

  “Mav, I don’t think I had a chance to tell you earlier, but it’s so good to have you home.” His mother snagged him around the waist, and her wiry hair tickled his upper arm where her cheek rested.

  He hadn’t heard her sneak up behind him. He’d only been off the job a few days, and already his sixth sense, the knowledge that someone was near without hearing, seeing or smelling them, suffered. Not good.

  “It’s great to be home.” Even as he said the words, he searched for Logan in the crowd. He finally spotted the boy outside the gigantic barn, struggling to push a wheelbarrow that was probably twice as heavy. The crazy thing would start, then stop, start, stop. Maverick’s younger brother Slade must have put Logan to work, helping with chores. Not a bad idea. Might put a dent in the kid’s seemingly endless supply of energy.

  He chuckled with relief, but it came out more as a huff when the pain arced through his insides.

  “He’s a good kid.” His mother’s quiet voice dragged his attention back to her.

  “Huh?”

  Apparently, she’d followed his vision because hers was now pinned on Logan and the dancing barrow. “Logan. He’s a wonderful child. Intelligent, well-mannered, extremely energetic…” Her words trailed off as her gaze angled to meet his. “Reminds me of you when you were that age.”

  “That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing. Fargo and I probably drove Dad crazy with all our stunts.” He eased the words out, coaxing a gentle smile from his mother. His father had only been gone for a couple years now, and according to Kierra, grief still snuck up on their mother at random moments. “Where’s his daddy?”

  “Summer’s divorced.” Two softly spoken words against the clatter of wedding chatter, but they held so much meaning, so much potential, so much—

  He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it whooshed out, almost knocking him back in its intensity. So she wasn’t married. That definitely put a new spin on things. His six weeks of recuperation didn’t seem so bad now. “Divorced, huh? How does she cope with that little fireball on her own?”

  His mother locked arms over her chest, hiding the words Beware! The cook is in the kitchen! on her black apron. “I don’t know how that poor girl does it. But from what I’ve heard, she’s better off without him.” She snorted and shook her head. Her eyebrows flattened, and her lips compressed. She glanced back at Logan, protectiveness radiating from her in waves.

  What was up with that? His mother liked most everybody and she usually didn’t judge a person based on gossip.

  “She moved to Coldwater Ridge to be closer to her sister. But I hear the kids are older and into different things, so poor Summer doesn’t get much help on that front, either.”

  Ouch. His admiration and respect for the single mother ratcheted up several notches. He had still been living at the ranch when Fargo became a widower with an infant to care for. How many mornings had Fargo shown up at the house, a crying baby tucked against his chest, bluish rims circling his eyes? How his brother’s shoulders drooped from several long nights up with Jayce and even longer back-busting days working the ranch.

  He hadn’t envied his brother then. Not like now. But he’d made his bed when Andrea broke up with him. Only casual dating now. Law enforcement and families didn’t mix.

  “What about Summer’s parents?” Maverick tested the feminine name as it rolled off his tongue. He liked it. Brought up good memories. Swimming on lazy Sunday afternoons with his brother and sister in the oversized pond his dad and granddaddy had carved out. Camping out in their front yard on Friday evenings, the scent of melting marshmallows and chocolate from their s’mores lingering in the air. Listening to his parents’ contented murmurs on the porch swing as he drifted off to sleep.

  “They live in Florida.”

  “Florida. That’s tough.” How much farther could she be from her support system? His gaze roamed the crowd until it settled on her again. The camera blocked her face, but he still made out the curve of her lips. She must have captured the perfect keepsake of the groom mingling with his buddies. “Is that where she’s from?”

  “Yes. And where her ex-husband still lives.”

  The music wound down, and the disc jockey announced that the ceremony would commence soon.

  “That’s my cue. Excuse me, Maverick.” His mother squeezed his arm and left, headed for the kitchen. He didn’t like that his mother had to work so hard, but she seemed to enjoy their new business venture.

  “Hey, mister.” A hand tapped his thigh, insistent and rhythmic.

  He glanced down, amazed that those pudgy legs could cover so much ground so quickly, especially in bare feet. “Hey, Logan.”

  “Whatcha doing?”

>   Watching your mother? No, that wouldn’t work. “I was just chatting with my mother but then she went inside the house. What are you doing?” And where was his younger brother, the babysitter?

  “Playing.”

  “With the wheelbarrow?”

  The little tyke’s eyebrows disappeared into thick bangs and his mouth formed a wide O. “Yeah. You saw me?”

  He nodded. “Looked like you were having fun.”

  “Slade needed help.” Logan’s legs danced.

  Was the kid potty trained? “Where did you leave Slade?”

  “Back at the barn, but I’m here now.” A huff sounded from behind them.

  Maverick angled over a shoulder, caught his younger brother’s frown, the long legged strides, the puffs of frustration. He swallowed a chuckle, quite sure that Logan gave Slade a run for his babysitting money, probably way more than what Summer paid him. “Hey, buddy. Did you lose your sidekick?”

  “Yes,” Slade said the one word, firm and forced out through tightly closed lips.

  Maverick could tell there was more that Slade wanted to say on the subject, but didn’t. Instead, his brother crouched to Logan-level and curled fingers around Logan’s shoulders, keeping the boy in place. “Logan, what have I told you about wandering off like that?”

  “I sorry.” The dancing stopped. Biscuit-sized eyes glinted with tears, and the kid’s lips quivered.

  Maverick’s heart melted for the boy. No dad around. No grandparents nearby. Even the aunt and uncle who lived close never paid him any attention.

  “Oh, no!” Slade jerked back, his hands dropping away from Logan. He popped up, lightning fast. Slapped his forehead. Backed away as if the kid had electrified him.

  What was wrong?

  One glance at the puddle expanding against Logan’s denim shorts and slithering down those short legs and he had his answer. No. The kid wasn’t totally potty trained, and apparently, he’d reached his limit.

  Slade whipped toward him, a horrified expression glazing his brother’s face.